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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27707831">our coming of age has come and gone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons'>kaermorons</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Assassin's Creed - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Contains lots of Italian because Author is learning Italian, Depression, Desmond died but it’s ok cuz he’s not dead now nor will he be in this fic, Fix-It, Heavy spoilers for AC2 and AC:Brotherhood, Historical References, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mild spoilers for AC3, Post-AC:B/Pre-AC:Rev, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Sugar Baby Desmond Miles, Sugar Daddy Ezio Auditore, Swiftie Desmond Miles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:47:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>36,773</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27707831</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaermorons/pseuds/kaermorons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The ache in his muscles from being burned alive dissipated like a receding tide, and vitality surged back in.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>Way to go, Des, you couldn’t even die right.</em></p><p> </p><p>Fix-it fic with Sugar Daddy Ezio and Sad Puppy Desmond.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ezio Auditore da Firenze/Desmond Miles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>179</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>656</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. che me ne faccio ormai</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/B00nasaurusrex/gifts">B00nasaurusrex</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Listen. I know they’re goddamned related. There’s 30+ generations between them. If you don’t like it don’t read it, and sure as fuck don’t comment on it because my unsolicited crit tolerance level is real low.</p><p>For the rest of Dezio shippers out there, awake fair people and rejoice. Author is living in happy joy land where we didn’t get served a 20-pack of McDesmond Nuggets at the end of AC3.</p><p>Title from lyrics of Peace by Taylor Swift.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Touching. Burning. Screaming. Lies. Alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond was floating and listless, both alive at every nerve ending and dead simultaneously. It was a sacrifice many others had to make, yet Desmond felt very alienated in his position, the lamb led to slaughter for the betterment of the many.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was fucking bullshit. He knew it was, his father knew it was bullshit, the whole fucking Order knew it was bullshit, and they sent him in anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Death looks like the Animus Nexus.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was quiet because the Nexus was always quiet. Desmond stood alone, looking nowhere in particular because the Nexus was nowhere in particular incarnate. Gentle squares and shapes flowed throughout the ether, and he frowned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t lived to see his 26th birthday. He was planning on doing something fun. It’d been nine years of hiding, of ducking around corners, of bailing all of his belongings and starting again and again and again, with no end in sight. He wanted to do something fun for his tenth year away from the Farm, though. Maybe he would learn to rollerskate, or since his birthday was still technically in winter, ice skating. Maybe he would have…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone was standing in the distance, and because the images of the Isu inventors were still fresh in his mind, he recognized the someone...as one of </span>
  <em>
    <span>them. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He approached. The person had a thick beard and long, flowing golden robes. He looked a bit ridiculous, but nothing about this entire situation had been normal for as long as Desmond could remember.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>“We haven’t met,”</em>
  </b>
  <span> he said, amused even through the time-traveling condescension.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, we haven’t. Who are you?” Desmond asked, tilting his head to the side and trying to work him out.</span>
</p>
<p><b><em>“I am Jupiter.”</em></b> <span>Desmond recognized the name. He was the third of the Capitoline Triad, who worked to save the world with Juno and Minerva. </span><b><em>“And you are known to us as Cipher.”</em></b></p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but that’s not...it wasn’t my name.”</span>
</p>
<p><b><em>“Names are irrelevant in death, Cipher.”</em></b> <span>He smirked a bit, and Desmond fought the urge to roll his eyes.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you’re just trying to be an asshole. I’ve had enough of Isu assholes for one lifetime, I don’t think I have any tolerance for an after-lifetime.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jupiter looked impressed. It must have been a very long time before he got to have any company, and for his first visitor in who knows how long to call him an asshole twice within the first thirty words of a conversation must have been surprising, even to a supposedly all-knowing, all-powerful being like himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what do you want with me? Was my life not enough to just be left alone?” Desmond asked, feeling bone-weary exhaustion settle in next to his strange numbness and pain from his arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jupiter crossed his arms and sighed. </span>
  <b>
    <em>“The others...they are used to taking. We are the same in that we are used to giving to the ungrateful,”</em>
  </b>
  <span> he said as he drifted closer. </span>
  <b>
    <em>“I have little power left on this earth. Listen closely.”</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond sighed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>More prophecies?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>“Your work is done, Cipher. Let not the pains of your past and our future bear the pains of our past, your future. Live not with the consequences of leaving a legacy, that we may reap the rewards thereof and you bear the brunt from. From our creations have your pains been borne. From me, let me take them.”</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond choked on a shout as Jupiter reached forward, taking hold of his right arm. Their bodies did not pass through one another like before, but connected in touch. He gaped down at his arm, once blackened and charred to the point where his bones had fused together from touching the Eye. Now, under Jupiter’s grasp, the skin healed to the glowing pink of new skin, his fingers and bones and joints rebuilt themselves instantaneously, and his muscles grew back to how they were before. The ache in his muscles from being burned alive dissipated like a receding tide, and vitality surged back in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Way to go, Des, you couldn’t even die right.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gasped in shock at the feeling, his mind racing with renewed sensation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>“They are gone, as is your future, stolen by the world. Let the world give back to you, and may you live and laugh and love once more.”</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck, I just got brought back to life by a piece of tacky decor.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next thing he knew, he was falling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If there was one thing Desmond knew from months and months of using the Animus, it was that gravity worked the exact same way in 1191, in 1501, and in 1771. Lucky for him, unlike Altaïr, Desmond Miles knew how to swim.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meaning that after his initial shout of shock, he had the instincts to take a breath, at least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water was fairly brackish, but fucking freezing. He sputtered a little as he came to the surface, gasping for air and treading water frantically. He’d gone from a musty cave to a formless nexus, to a frigid river in a matter of what seemed like minutes. He looked around, but the near-black of the night confused him greatly. He picked a direction, and pulled through the water until he reached a shore, silty and slippery.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gasped for air on the bank, laying on his back and peering up at the stars. It had been so long since he’d seen them, except when he’d been living in the middle of nowhere, South Dakota as a kid. He blinked at them in confusion for a few minutes, wondering why they were there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond cursed the new moon, and peered through the darkness, trying his best to see. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There.</span>
  </em>
  <span> A light in the dark. He stood, in his sopping wet pants and hoodie, and walked forward, more than a little miffed. The light turned out to be coming from a small cottage, a single candle in the window. Desmond kept to the side of the window, using the light to look himself over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was covered in mud, and not a single part of him was dry. He had his backpack, but it was extremely light, so it probably had nothing useful in it. His wristwatch and earpiece were gone, probably at the bottom of the river. Luckily, the three buckles on his hidden blade held true, and he had that, at least. He shivered in the cold air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He then noticed that his arm was no longer singed and black. He marveled at it, scraping the mud away and expecting whole pieces of flesh to slide off with it. He shuddered, the phantom feeling of his injury making his stomach turn and his blood go hot-cold-hot again. He took deep breaths and looked in the window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The furnishings were sparse and weathered, clearly used often, but also not in any way modern. Desmond couldn’t see a laptop, a phone, even a lightbulb anywhere inside of the place. Something Jupiter said made him pause.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>Our past, your future...</em>
  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, fucking—” Desmond cut himself off and shoved his knuckles in his mouth, trying not to scream in frustration.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Did Jupiter just send me back in time, for fucking real?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could see the road a little better, now, and walked away from that revelation as quickly as he could.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walked along the road until sunlight started to break over the horizon, lighting up the hills and trees and landscape in what Desmond would’ve called a </span>
  <em>
    <span>dawning horror,</span>
  </em>
  <span> had he been any less stressed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was in Rome.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mind righted itself a little, filling him in with several pieces of information. He was in the Antico district, heading north along one of the riverside roads. The more light that shone through the trees, the more he realized how critically and unavoidably </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucked</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was, wearing his department-store hoodie and thrifted jeans, his shoes squeaking louder than a mouse-rock concert. He dove into the treeline when he heard others walking up the road.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hid there, back pressed against a large tree, waiting for them to pass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“La scorsa notte, ho sentito un gritto vicino al Tevere. Hai sentito?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, ho dormito. Che cos’è?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Boh...non lo so, non lo so…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond cursed himself again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit, why can’t I understand Italian anymore!?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He hoped they weren’t talking about himself, but in his life, when it rains, it pours.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He managed to sneak through the trees unseen, until the looming city ahead and the rising sun threatened to undo all of that work in an instant. He pulled his hood up, still sopping wet and smelling like the Tiber, but it provided him a bit of comfort he’d grown used to four lifetimes over. The road twisted around a corner to a port, with a recently-docked ship spilling passengers out over the gangway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit, shit, that’s people, shit shit fuck—</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Signore—!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh fuck,” Desmond whimpers, trying not to look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Signore, voglio parlarti!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nope, nope, nope, nope…” Desmond sped up his pace, but didn’t run. He just needed to get somewhere safe, where he can think straight for once. He’d been walking for hours, and—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ha detto che vuole parlarti,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> a deep voice said, before Desmond saw a big chest of shiny plate armor in front of him. He felt like he was in a cartoon, gulping against the rising panic in his chest as he made out the angry eyes of the brute inside the suit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um,” Desmond squeaks out, looking askance to try and find an escape. All of the walkways were covered by guards. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why are there so many at the port at this hour?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“C’è un problema?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> a voice said from behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh no.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, fuck no.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No no no no no no.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew that voice. It haunted his dreams, and his waking days, it made him see and know things without ever experiencing them. Desmond squeezed his eyes shut, and willed this all to be a dream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of a sword unsheathing dashed that hope into a million pieces.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fucking—” Desmond didn’t want it to come to this. He’d spent too many days regretting his choices, spent too many nights sleepless over the lives he’s taken, but those numbers paled in comparison to Ezio Auditore da Firenze, l’Assassino di Roma, il Mentore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Who was right behind him, stabbing a guard holding a halberd like he’d insulted his family. He could almost hear the bell going off in his head, alerting him to guards’ angered presence all around. Acting on instinct, Desmond released his hidden blade and shoved it as far as the brute’s armor would let him. The flesh and bone beneath gave way under his blade, and he pulled it out with a twist that would ensure it wouldn’t be fixable at any of the nearby healers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hair on the back of his neck prickled sharply, and he ducked under the wide swing of another guard, legs going wide in a steadier stance. The hot, sticky blood on his hands met another’s as he jammed the blade into the gut of this guard. The sounds of fighting all around them blurred to a fast-tempo dance, footwork and dodging, flexibility and agility winning out over strength and force in the end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All in all, there were twelve guards dead on the ground at the end of it, some with crossbow bolts and throwing knives stuck out of their chests, some dead on their own blades. Desmond’s chest was heaving, his body shaking with adrenaline and that ever-present gut-wrenching fear of killing another person. It was necessary, at his own cost. He turned, pulled like a flower to the sun, to look at the other fighter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He seemed to have not gotten any blood on him, having used his sword and ranged weaponry to fight. He had a traveling bag on his shoulder, a sea bag, which hadn’t hit the ground once in the skirmish. His white hood, always present in Desmond’s dreams, hid his eyes in shadow, but not the curious little smirk on his face. He opened his mouth as if to speak—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Desmond learned that ensuring kills were thorough was important.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sharp pull on his ankle had him tumbling down, flailing and helpless in his descent. While Ezio went for the dying guard who had attacked, Desmond’s head connected with the side of a wooden shipping crate, and the world went black once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he came to, he was being carried by two women, holding him under his arms and knees. They moved swiftly, and his head swam in that delicate space between consciousness and the darkness. His eyes lolled about as he tried to get his bearings, but his limbs felt leaden, and he could not move any other part of him in this state.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Grazie a Dio - Mentore!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> the woman at his head exclaimed, her bright green eyes full of relief and surprise. “He’s waking up!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. What?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond got the innate feeling he’d just been apologized to, but couldn’t place from who or for why.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>At least I can understand Italian again,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought before he was brought into a dim, windowless building that looked and smelled for all intents and purposes like—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No way did Ezio just take him to the Tiber Island Hideout. No fucking way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond, rather than deal with it like an adult, decided to pass out about it. That was a problem for Future Desmond.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. che mi riporta un poco di te</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He wakes in the morning. Or what he assumes is morning. There are no windows, but there is a single candle in the room, which lets him know instantly that he’s not alone. A hooded person sat in a chair by the door, arms crossed and head bowed in such a way that Desmond assumed they were asleep. He looked himself over. Someone had removed his hoodie and jeans, and washed the mud and blood off of him, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hidden blade was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Panic seizes him for a moment, burning sharply through his spine and sending him sitting up straight, and then collapsing back, trying to keep his nausea at bay. His mind struggled through the last things he remembered. There was a port. People. A fight. Ezio.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ezio.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Christ,” Desmond whispered, looking closer at the hooded figure, who was now sitting up, awakened by his movements. They looked at him curiously but didn’t say anything, walking out of the room with little more noise than the breeze on the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond’s own confusion lasted less than a minute, as l’Assassino himself swept into the room, alone, still armed to the teeth, but his hood down, revealing tanned skin and his usual pulled-back hair. His eyes sparkled with curiosity and suspicion, but his mouth held a neutral frown to it that turned Desmond’s gut. His head was still spinning and his vision was flickering in half-darkness and the dim room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They looked at each other in tense silence, until Ezio spoke, moving fluidly to bring the chair closer to Desmond’s bedside. He shone, golden and resplendent, for a brief moment before Desmond’s vision righted itself. Desmond realized his head had been wrapped, and the sharp scent of a poultice told him a healer must have been by. It assuaged some of his fears. Why would Ezio take care of him just to kill him when he woke up? Surely he had questions, though, and Desmond intended to answer them as truthfully as he could. Whether Ezio believed him or not remained to be seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are not from Roma,” Ezio said, sighing as he sat in the chair, relaxed in appearance but definitely hiding steel beneath the exterior. “Nor are you from Spain. You were not on the boat with me from Viena, yet we ended up in the same place at the same time, bearing the same weapons and the same scars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond knew he was speaking in Italian, but he understood the words perfectly. He swallowed a little. “Same time, yeah,” he whispered, voice rough all of a sudden. He’d never been on the receiving end of that look before, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>say more now or I’ll throw you to the dogs</span>
  </em>
  <span> look. Desmond knew what muscles, what kind of intensity had to go into </span>
  <em>
    <span>giving</span>
  </em>
  <span> that look, and now, on the other side, he knew why Ezio was such a successful interrogator. He hadn’t asked a question, yet the words felt like they were about to tumble off his tongue off-leash. “I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure you didn’t. Assassins tend to leave little more mess than blood and bodies. You have half of Rome talking about you, however. I was told you appeared in the Tevere, and now here we are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here we are.” Desmond felt a little light-headed, head still spinning. He’d seen Ezio in his dreams before, heard that voice crooning to him in those private moments Ezio thought he was alone, singing songs to pass the time and dancing alone in his room, no partner. Desmond had been that partner, had been serenaded to time and again. “I’m not...going to try to hide anything from you, but I don’t think I’m going to be able to offer up information in a logical manner right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scarred corner of Ezio’s lips tilted up a bit at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see. You did take quite a hit like that. Do they train you to fall like that, wherever you’re from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Desmond denied. “I’m a bit of a…” he felt his language skills leave him. “Clusterfuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never heard of that word before. I’m sure we’d just call it clumsy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a way of putting it,” Desmond huffed. “I don’t have a lot of training, but I know my history more...intimately than most.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“History? Whose history?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Assassins, the Order back in Masyaf during the Crusades, even things you’d call the future.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio leaned back from where he had been peering closer and closer. He considered Desmond’s words. “You are not from this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see,” Ezio nodded. He crossed his arms and sighed. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Desmond, would it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond’s stomach dropped down into the upper mantle of the earth. Ezio laughed aloud at the pallor he’d suddenly adopted. “Yeah, I am. That’s my name. I’m Desmond. I was, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head, looking down at his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I’m assuming you saved the world from its impending doom, yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Desmond whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At a cost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t paid some kind of price. We’re not often given gifts without consequences, nor duty without relief.” Ezio’s demeanor was still slightly suspicious, but relaxed. “What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I died,” Desmond shrugged. “They said I wouldn’t feel a thing, it’d be over in a second. Instead, it was...endless. Pain, fear, every ounce of suffering they could squeeze into me, like they were saving it all just for me.” He scowled, bitter and upset to be speaking of it. “I’d rather not talk about it if that’s alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will cease my questions for now. But I will have more soon, I’m sure. How is your head?” Ezio stood, rolling his sleeves back. Desmond’s mind short-circuited for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s uh, probably a concussion, I’m just dizzy right now…” Calloused hands, infinitely gentle and careful, unwound the bandage from Desmond’s head. From this angle, he could make eye contact with the business end of Ezio’s hidden blade. He held very still. Ezio hummed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I turned the mechanism off. You can relax, Desmond,” Ezio murmured, and the sound of his name on that tongue sent an embarrassing warmth into Desmond’s gut. He hummed when the bandage was pulled away, pleased at the healing rate. “It seems we share many things in common, then. If not just from our scars, then our ability to heal from them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And fighting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t go so far. They almost had you too many times for comfort.” Desmond gave a huff of disbelief, and felt at the small wound with his fingertips. He winced. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dead but can still feel pain, then. Great.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Grazie mille,</span>
  </em>
  <span> then.” Desmond fought the urge to roll his eyes again, tamping down the pounding in his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Prego,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ezio purred, taking his seat again, the bandages discarded to the side for now. “I suppose asking you why you’re in Roma would yield no answer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You suppose correctly. I was tossed in a river before I could ask any more questions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Ezio said, fighting back another smile. The boy on the bed before him looked rather cute when he was put-out. “And I don’t think sending you back to your own time would be possible?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I think I was put here for a reason. He—the Isu guy, he said my work was done,” Desmond said, shutting his mouth before </span>
  <em>
    <span>live, laugh, love</span>
  </em>
  <span> came out. Somehow, telling Ezio about that part seemed disastrous. “So I should probably stay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eternal Sabbath, is what it sounds like to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And on the seventh day, Desmond rested for the remainder of his afterlife.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Ezio drew a hand over his face. “I think I’m in the same boat, Desmond. My enemies are dead by my blade, my Brotherhood recreated, Templars fleeing with their tails between their legs, Roma thriving, my family happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So it’s 1507, after Cesare Borgia met his fate. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The math added up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Four years before Masyaf, before Constantinople. There’s a plague outbreak here soon. Rome is in a drought. It won’t rain for nine months this year. Ezio is 47, but at the peak of his life. He dies in eighteen years of a heart attack, in his hometown.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He was afraid of that future more than he was frightened by the future he no longer had. So he did what all Assassins did when the fire was at their back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a Leap of Faith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, idle hands make the devil’s work. How’d you like an apprentice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio looked surprised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We typically have a training cadre here, to handle new recruits,” he said, but the sparkle in his eyes, the amusement at Desmond’s antics, said he already made his decision. “Why don’t we get you some new clothes, and I can show you Roma.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Running around Rome with Ezio nursing a barely-healed concussion wasn’t the best idea, but it was the one Ezio had his mind on. And so, Desmond tagged along. As they walked through the city, outfitting him with a set of robes and a few other pieces Ezio sent back to the hideout with a Brotherhood acolyte even Desmond hadn’t seen, Ezio took him to the blacksmith. It felt surreal, getting outfitted with a sword, daggers, the like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio tossed him an apple quite suddenly, and Desmond caught it. “What was that for?” Desmond asked, frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re left-handed, like Leonardo,” Ezio observed. Desmond held back a hysterical laugh. Ezio was comparing him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Leonardo da Vinci.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was trained to use both, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Desmond secured the weapons to his new belt, bouncing on his feet to adjust to the weight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll see about that later. Let’s walk, Desmond.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking next to Ezio was an almost out-of-body experienced. Shopkeepers called out his name, waved to him. Ordinary citizens of Rome shook his hand, offered thanks, updated him on their lives, and Ezio accepted all of it. His hood was down. He was approachable. Desmond, on the other hand, kept his own hood up, too afraid of the prying eyes on the outrageously expensive outfit Ezio had purchased for him. The people paid him no mind, anyway. He was used to being invisible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(That moment Shaun told him a single florin had the same spending power of a few hundred up to a thousand dollars had been such a shock to him he’d desynchronized from the memory. Ezio’d had about 18,000 florins just chilling on his person.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As evening drew nearer, and the sun set on Desmond’s first day in Rome, he turned to Ezio. “What day is it?” Desmond asked softly, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Ezio looked at his shy companion and smiled, enjoying the way Desmond’s face reddened that much more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is the first day of spring. The twenty-first of March, 1507, and I believe a Thursday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond let out a slow breath, reality sinking in like a very heavy stone. Something like dread must have shown on his face, because Ezio stepped in front of him and took his arm. “Is something wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, I’m just. God, this is real, isn’t it?” Desmond’s eyes flitted around under the hood, unfocused and panicked. Ezio could feel his pulse thrumming with terror even from this distance. He’d seen some of his own Brotherhood get this way before, minds caught on the hooks the past had dug into their hearts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it is real, but you are safe, Desmond. You are safe with me.” Ezio reached for Desmond’s hand and put it over his heart. Desmond’s eyes met his, and Ezio felt the man calming down some. He put his hand over Ezio’s, holding him there with a desperation Ezio remembered feeling when the floor had gone out from his brothers and father on the gallows. He would not leave Desmond untethered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Desmond whispered hoarsely, giving a watery smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do not need to suffer alone, my friend,” Ezio said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It surprised Desmond to no end exactly how compassionate of a person Ezio was. He took selfishly, of course, but never at the cost of his people, of his friends and family. To be counted among one of those groups was a security in itself, and Desmond shoved his hands down at his side to keep from falling into the other man’s embrace. It’d be a long road to figure out what Jupiter meant by sending him here, but as Ezio said, he needn’t do it alone.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. il mondo intorno a noi non esisteva</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Aside from his perfectly-reasonable freakout in the market (which he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> calling a panic attack, simply because the word hadn’t been invented yet. Denial, however, had been a very common mistress to many men since the beginning of time, First Civilizations or otherwise), Desmond was doing fine. Ezio steered him back in the direction of the hideout, clearly calling the day done on his account. The warm hand at the small of his back seemed like it was the only thing that kept him moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aside from Desmond’s new horde of possessions, Ezio had also been to the market, purchasing from several old ladies who cooed over him (one of them bold enough as to actually pinch his cheek). He preferred to carry these purchases in his arms, rather than send them back with his light-footed underlings following them like kites on strings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it bother you?” Desmond asked softly, hood still pulled up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does what bother me? The answer is probably no. There are no nobles around.” Ezio observed a painter at work as he spoke, managing to use the last bits of natural light to try and paint the rest of the canvas on his easel. He seemed to critique the work in his own head - Desmond knew that look, and knew the thoughts Ezio had about art.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your shadows. You seem like a man who wants to be alone in a time like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio turned away from the artist, and looked at Desmond. “I already spend so much of my life alone, I forget I’m allowed to experience Roma how everyone else does. These people, they know I’m not at work right now. I’m at home. I can relax when someone else has my back, moreso when there’s four of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Four? I only saw the two…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Observe.” Ezio pulled his hood over his head, and there was an instant effect over the crowd around them. It rippled out from that single action. Conversation turned louder, more distracting, to hide a secret conversation. Tarps and awnings normally taken down at night went back up, providing cover from archers and pursuing enemies. Even the small children playing in an open courtyard scattered back indoors, knowing danger was nearby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond was impressed, and taken aback. He had never experienced Rome like this, had never made the connection with how easy it was for Ezio to escape and his levels of notoriety. How the posters somehow took themselves down a few hours after they’d gone up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A group of four men came up, all of them carrying some heavy luggage that could’ve hidden any number of weapons. They overtook Ezio and Desmond fluidly, like a river around a few stones. “Where to, Messere?” one of the men asked softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just to the river,” Ezio said gently. They walked, almost in sync, but hidden within the protection of those four men. He’d thought those were just mechanics of the Animus, making life easier, when it had been Ezio making life easier. By rebuilding Rome, the people had become grateful. The economy had lifted, as did spirits with the removal of the oppressive guard structures. He’d known Ezio Auditore was a brilliant, charismatic, and compassionate man, but hadn’t seen evidence so starkly until now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It made his stomach flip the more changes he saw. Torchlights being put inside as they passed, allowing for some measure of darkness. On a whim, Desmond concentrated hard and tapped into his own Eagle Vision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were surrounded by a sea of blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio had managed to make the whole city his ally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they reached the Tiber, the men disengaged without another word, depositing them safely at the foot of a bridge that would take them up to the hideout. Desmond would have to keep a look out more than he had. There would be no bell rung, telling him he was in trouble with enemies. There would be no mini-map telling him where enemies and escape routes lay, there would be no warnings of danger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit, he was a really bad Assassin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio saw his distraught expression, and only laughed. He pulled the hood back off his head and walked closer. “Don’t take it too hard. I’ve been doing this for decades, </span>
  <em>
    <span>cucciolo.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond made a half-panicked noise that luckly came out as a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hideout was mysteriously crowded when they returned. Curious eyes peeked out from underneath hoods and behind walls and columns, eager to get an eye on Il Mentore’s new friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio never brought anyone in from the outside, not unless they were already in the Order, or allied to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Master Assassin noticed the population increase and made an unimpressed noise. “I’m sure there are patrols being neglected right now,” he growled. Several hissed whispers of “tell me later!” whizzed around the room before half the occupants left. It was punctuated by a clanking of the tunnel gate as people fled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This way,” Ezio told Desmond, bringing him up a set of stairs to what looked like a kitchen. “Half of the Roman underground is going to know that a mysterious and dashingly attractive man who appeared in the river spent the day at my side. My mother and sister will be furious,” he chuckled as he removed some food from the bag. Desmond took a tentative step in the kitchen, and Ezio fixed him with a look, sizing him up for the hundredth time that day. “Can you cook?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can chop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio made a noncommittal hum which said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>we’ll see.</span>
  </em>
  <span> They worked in silence, preparing enough food for those that remained at the hideout. “I didn’t know you could cook,” Desmond said, endlessly amused at seeing those hands, capable of violence and shaping the whole of Rome, added pasta into a boiling pot of water. It seemed too domestic for him, too menial.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the best-kept secret of the Assassin Order,” Ezio joked. Desmond hid his grin and focused on preparing the vegetables. They were making a simple minestrone with ciambelle on the side, one of the things Ezio had purchased many of while walking around Rome. They were small, thin rings of bread that reminded Desmond so much of a New York bagel that it made his heart hurt. Ezio noticed the wistful look in his eye, but had promised not to ask any more questions about the future for now. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to have to ask you to improvise a bit about your origins.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I expected as much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think a son of a friend of mine from Florence, who showed up to help me fight off my welcome party at the docks, should be good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could keep up with that,” Desmond nodded, handing over a cutting board of tomatoes and mushrooms. Ezio thanked him and added it to the pot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not from here, but you’d like to be,” Ezio continued, shifting his body that much more over towards Desmond. His breath hitched a bit. “And I took it on myself to apprentice you, since I have different plans for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-you do?” Desmond asked shakily, looking up at him. He remembered that they were the same height, but Ezio was in his boots, and Desmond just in an old, borrowed pair, worn down by time and overuse. That scant inch between them made all the difference, it seemed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I do.” Ezio’s breath was warm on his face, tickling his blushing cheeks and making his head spin. “First, I think I’d like…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...you to open that wine I left out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shock felt like being tossed into a snowdrift after a month in a desert. Desmond took a step back from the smirking assassin, and looked to the table. There were a few bottles of wine without labels, which Desmond dutifully uncorked to let breathe. He smelled the bottom of the cork and hummed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you tell what it is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Desmond coughed after taking a deeper sniff. “Fuck. Wines are not that strong where I’m from.” He blinked tears away from his eyes. Ezio grinned like the cat who caught the canary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is a Sangiovese di Romagna. We typically add them with water. Any man who can hold a straight face while drinking wine from the cask is surely formidable.” Ezio said with amusement, taking down a few glasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where I’m from...I was a sort of...hm. I suppose I worked at what you’d call an osteria.” Desmond poured the wine. “I specialized in wine and liquors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A professional drinker, I think I like you.” They cheered their wine and took a small sip. The sting of the alcohol burned like no other, but Desmond could taste the subtleties. He never thought he’d be able to have wine again in his life. He looked down at the near-black surface of the drink, saw his tired face looking back, and sighed. “Come now, wine isn’t an affair to sigh and slouch over. Taste the soup for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stayed in the kitchen, drinking and teasing, until supper was ready, and ten assassins waited at the door, eager to see who had been let into Ezio’s kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to take better care of the pantry while you’re here, you all,” Ezio scolded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Si, Mentore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hefted the pot of soup up, using his fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>cape</span>
  </em>
  <span> to keep his hands protected from the heat. Desmond followed with the bread, using a rag to keep his hands safe. They met in the main hideout room, a table pushed into the center for them to sit at. The others had already gotten plates, spoons, and cups out. One assassin followed with the wine from the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They gathered and sat in a tense silence, until one of them couldn’t take it anymore. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Permesso,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mentore, who is your friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Guilia!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Shh!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio raised a hand. “It’s fine. This is Desmond. He is a friend’s son from Florence, and will be staying with us here at the hideout for a while. I’m assuming you’ve already sent someone to gossip with Claudia and my mother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a very pregnant pause, before another recruit squeaked out, “Yes. And La Volpe and Pantasilea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio sighed and rubbed a hand over his face again. “If I’m to face an army in the morning, I’m going to eat well tonight. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mangia!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond hid his smile in his wine and ate while he could, expecting questions to come soon. If they were so bold as to question their leader, some stranger would be no trouble at all. Already, he felt their eyes on him as he ate and drank. They kept a steady banter after eating for a bit, teasing everyone at the table regardless of rank. Even Ezio caught a bit of heat for acting like he was sneaking a girl home all day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I promise you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>amici,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you and half the island would know if I brought someone home.” The promise was made with his eyes locked on Desmond, a half-challenge behind them, but also a bit of ever-present Auditore curiosity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt a blush rise up in his already-reddened cheeks, his modesty coming to clutch at pearls, but an assassin’s determination kept their gazes locked. Heat bloomed in his chest and sent shivers down his spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, the conversation had moved on, but Desmond felt one set of eyes on him heavier than the others the rest of the night.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. che mi riporta un poco del passato</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Although it was barely ten in the morning, Ezio was just getting started training Desmond, vaulting over and running around all the ruins he could find in the Antico district.</p><p>(The Antico district was about 90% ruins.)</p><p>“We’ll rest here, and return soon. I can see the others trying to signal for me.” Ezio liked to talk to himself. It was...weird. Desmond loved it.</p><p>“Good fucking Lord, I’m out of shape. If I’d died maybe four months earlier, I’d’ve kept up with you no problem,” Desmond panted and sat down in a heap in the corner. The roof of the building had long since disintegrated, which allowed the bright blue sky to flourish above them. The sun was at high noon. </p><p>“You were strong before?”</p><p>Desmond gave a bitter laugh, closing his eyes and leaning back, letting his face catch the sun. it was still novel to him, just feeling the gentle warmth everyone else took for granted. So many hours he’d spent, lost in the machine, in other lives, the almost-sun upon his skin, the almost-cold of the water, the almost-touch of a lover. The almost-happiness of a smile. He looked back at Ezio, blinking the gold from his eyes. “Before.”</p><p>Ezio took a seat. Here, on top of ruined walls only ghosts inhabited now, they felt alone. Even the walls in the hideout had ears. “Will you tell me about it?”</p><p>“I trained pretty much from birth. Born into the order. My father, he’d—” he laughed again, incredulous that he was talking about this with <em> Ezio, </em> of all people. “He’d espouse this bullshit all the time. <em> Nothing is true, everything is permitted. You have to stay hidden from THEM, Desmond. THEY will kill us all. The Templars, the Assassins, blah blah blah, </em> it was nonsense to me.”</p><p>“You hadn’t seen it. You lacked belief,” Ezio agreed with a shrug. “To blindly follow a creed can be just as harmful as forcing others to adhere to it.”</p><p>“That’s just how it was. It was a cult and I was the faithless son of the Mentor, and I just. One day, I couldn’t do it anymore. I ran away. Sixteen, hiding every bit of evidence of myself that I could til I felt alright. It’s a lot harder to disappear in 2003 than 1503, I’ll tell you that.”</p><p>“I believe you,” Ezio said.</p><p>Desmond studied him for a moment. How easy it was for him, to see and know things that no one else in his time would be able to do, to hear wild stories of the future and <em> believe </em> him simply because he’d promised he wouldn’t lie.</p><p>Ezio had seen the way Desmond looked at him, the awe, the almost disbelief and surprise that Ezio simply existed. The assassin felt that the answer to why was close, and let the brotherhood wait a little longer.</p><p>“So you disappeared.”</p><p>“For almost ten years, yeah. Used fake names, I laughed about my past, I’d laugh about my family, the Order, I laughed because if I thought about it too long, I’d start to miss them.”</p><p>Ezio gave him a sad look. “I know what that feels like.” Of course he did, his family was hanged for no other reason than to prove a point. Of course he’d know walking the razor’s-edge of nostalgia and heartache. He’d shout for his family at night. Desmond had seen it, in the Animus. He’d hear a laugh that sounded <em> just </em> like Federico, and given himself whiplash. Turn to look for his father’s approval for solving a clever problem, finding no one.</p><p>He still collected feathers, after all these years.</p><p>“Then I got caught by Templars. It’s like being told there’s a dragon that you have to hide from all your life, and when you’re a kid you believe it, but when you grow up you go ‘oh that can’t exist!’ And when you least expect it, something comes and snatches you up in the night. And it was the dragon they warned you about all along.”</p><p>“What did they do?” Ezio’s voice was tinged with the slightest anger. “When they captured you?”</p><p>
  <em> God, this is where it falls apart, doesn’t it? </em>
</p><p>“There’s...fuck, Ezio, I’m not going to have the best answers here, but. You know the—” Desmond swallowed his fear and spoke. “The Apple can show you things that are true, but not there.”</p><p>Ezio’s look gave away nothing, disliking the mention of the Piece of Eden. “It could show the future.”</p><p>“It could, and so much more. In my time, there was a technology that allowed for us to see the inverse, to look into the pasts of our ancestors, and live through them as if it were ourselves, walking in their shoes. They created a machine that would keep a person in...fuck, in a waking nightmare, sometimes.” He shook his head and pushed his fingers through his hair, trying to get a grip. His right arm was starting to ache. “They knew my ancestral line was connected to several important Assassins from history. Several of the most important Assassins in history.”</p><p>Desmond looked up at Ezio with a pleading look, hoping he wouldn’t have to spell it out for the man. Ezio’s eyes were still holding his, the mask of neutrality still firmly on his face, but Desmond could tell the wheels were turning. “That’s how you were able to get the message from Minerva.”</p><p>Desmond slumped, like all of his strings were cut at once. <em> Alright, not dead yet, keep playing along, Miles. </em> “Yeah. There were several others that could see these memories with me. The Templars, at first, they only saw a little of another ancestor, but you were my second that I...lived through.”</p><p>“How much of my life did you see?” Ezio frowned. “Would you not have been able to see your arrival here?”</p><p>“I don’t think time works like that anymore,” Desmond said, at a loss. “Besides, at the end of the day, the machine had limitations. I’d seen Rome, and Florence, and Montereggioni, but a lot of details were missing for me. It was like you were only telling me the information that mattered to the mission, not...the feeling of the sun, or the music in the squares, or the taste of the wine or the touch of another. I was a ghost in your skin. And it haunted me even when I was Desmond again.”</p><p>He rubbed at his arm, willing the growing ache away as best he could. Ezio looked torn, still processing the information, but clearly concerned.</p><p>“The Apple had residual consequences to its use. What consequences did this machine bear?” Ezio Auditore, always full of surprises.</p><p>“It broke me, Ezio.” Desmond couldn’t look up at him. “It...the mind can only take one person’s life memories at a time before they start competing for seats at the table. I had four lives trying to sit at the same chair. There were fainting spells, hallucinations, psychotic breaks and trauma I’d literally inherited. I’m pretty sure I still can’t feel my ring finger as well as I once did.” He looked up. “I don’t like thinking about it, but sometimes I wonder if they would’ve kept me in the machine until I died on their terms.”</p><p>“Who was keeping you like that?” Ezio asked, anger seeping into his tone once again.</p><p>“When I was trapped by the Templars, a spy from the Order got me out of there. We retreated to an assassin safe house where we did the same dance, different song.”</p><p>“Both sides of the war would have ended you for some old man’s memories?” Ezio said in disbelief. </p><p>“I wasn’t the first. I’m not even the first to have died.”</p><p>Ezio felt his breath leave him in one <em> whoosh. </em> Not for the first time, he felt the urge to scoop Desmond up and hide him from the world. So accepting of his position, of the necessity for his sacrifice, and so young. A man like him should be just getting started, seeing the world, living happily where he could, not looking back on his unfortunate life with fondness.</p><p>“Before that, though, something happened. We were trying to retrieve one of the Pieces of Eden, and it affected me to the point where I was in a coma for three weeks. They had me hooked up to the machine to monitor me, and...I wasted away. They couldn’t feed me, couldn’t move me lest I seize up again, so I lost myself, physically now instead of mentally. That’s why I say I was strong, before.”</p><p>Desmond met his eyes, finally.</p><p>“But it was you that kept me going. Somehow, through living your life in the machine, my own mind copied it, and repaired itself so I could wake up again. I was...I kind of admired you above everyone else I’ve ever met.” The man blushed as he spoke. “Your life is certainly an interesting one, and I’m just glad I got to experience a little of it.”</p><p>“I’m flattered,” Ezio said warmly, smiling at him and offering a hand up. Desmond stood, only getting lightheaded for a moment, and almost swooned again when Ezio pushed his hood off and onto his shoulders. “Why don’t you tell me about this admiration back at the hideout?”</p><p>The assassin delighted in how Desmond couldn’t meet his eyes, but smiled all the same.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>me vs. remembering desmond was NOT in a coma for six months, but just 20 days</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. vorrei tenerti qui vicino a me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ah shit i forgot uh cw like talk of child abuse? billy miles die challenge</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Their plans for back at the hideout were waylaid the moment they stepped through the ground-level door. Claudia and Maria Auditore waited in the suspiciously-empty gathering room, a crossed-arm stance on the former, and an at-ease sense to the latter. “Mother. Sister,” Ezio greeted, kissing their cheeks. Desmond felt his mind skidding to several halts at once, his mind frantically sorting out which memories were his own and which ones were Ezio’s. He felt like he knew these women, but he was back to being a stranger to all once again. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We heard some interesting news through the grapevine, dear brother,” Claudia said, straight to the point, her eyes already boring holes at Desmond, who kept his hood up. Would they notice the similarities, make the connection as easily as Ezio had? Did he have time to run? Did he have anywhere to run to?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go up and talk,” Ezio said, getting his sister’s meaning. Maria gave Desmond a pleasant smile, if she was curious she kept her opinions to herself. Desmond remembered the years of seemingly no change after the Auditore men were executed. She spoke not a word for years and years, and it broke her two children’s hearts over and over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio kept rooms at the very top of the Assassin’s hideout. They weren’t spacious or extremely decorated like the Palazzo Auditore in Florence or Maria’s bedroom in Monteriggioni, but they suited the man just right. A sitting room next to a private meeting area, a dedicated washroom with a tub and hearth and the most rudimentary indoor plumbing Desmond had ever seen, and two bedrooms. Most of the time, Ezio’s guests would crash in the second room, but Ezio had named it Desmond’s the second they finished supper the evening before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat down in the modest parlor, certainly less luxurious than the Rosa In Fiore, though the two women didn’t seem to mind. Desmond hovered uncertainly at the edge of the area, unsure if he was permitted to sit with them or not. A rather hysterical part of his mind reminded him that </span>
  <em>
    <span>they were all technically family,</span>
  </em>
  <span> which sent him into a mild state of panic. What would Ezio say, now that they had almost no secrets between them? What would Ezio tell them? He’d already lied once to the Order, but they were recruits, and didn’t even know what the Apple was in most cases.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Desmond,” Ezio said softly, indicating to sit with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is my mother, Maria Auditore, and my sister, Claudia Auditore. Mother, sister, this is Desmond Miles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Piacere di conoscervi,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Desmond said, with a jerky little wave thing that did nothing for his own steadily growing embarrassment. He pulled his hood down, and the women stilled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you meet?” Maria asked after a rather awkward silence. Claudia was looking between the two men with an increasingly confused and rather scandalized look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We ran into each other at the port,” Ezio said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Desmond, how old are you?” Claudia asked suddenly, ignoring the other line of questions. She had the same sort of inescapable questioning techniques that Ezio used, which made Desmond shift in his seat a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Twenty-five.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia sucked in a breath. “Ezio, you didn’t…” Maria looked to the ceiling for strength, finally realizing her daughter’s line of questioning. “He isn’t…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Ezio said with a scoff. “No, he’s never lived in Italy, he’s not from Italy, he’s not—dear Lord, Claudia, you think so little of me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s clearly well-outfitted and you two look like spitting images of one another!” she exclaimed. Desmond was helplessly confused. “Someone said you called him your puppy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that what that meant?” Desmond said weakly, knowing that when he finally got the point, he’d be glad to be sitting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at him! He’s a puppy!” Ezio said, on the hilarious defensive. “He is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> my son. Good lord, I feel old.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond barely bit back a sharp laugh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My god, they think I’m Ezio’s kid. Poor tomcat Ezio.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Your father, rest his soul, would be laughing so much right now,” said Maria. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If he’s not your son, then who is he? You bring someone into the hideout with little to no warning, drop a thousand florins on him in a single day, and tell no one else what’s happening? What did Machiavelli say?” Claudia asked, directing her ire back to her brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio looked over at Desmond, mulling over his options.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Auditori were no stranger to stranger things, from prophecies to magical artifacts to widely-spread conspiracies. Ezio did not trust many, but he never had any doubt to withhold trust from his family. He’d spent many hours thinking about what would be different, if his father had simply been open with his family about the true nature of their heritage, the family secret, the assassins and their crusade against the Templars. Would Ezio have been able to save his family? Would he have been smarter and stronger, been able to save his father, Federico, Petruccio, even Mario?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would not make his father’s mistakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond gave him a nod. He knew the man in some ways better than he knew himself, and didn’t know how he could have doubted Ezio’s faith in his family to begin with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a very condensed version of the traumatized rambling Desmond had given Ezio that afternoon, but the women seemed to take him at his word, which was more than Desmond could ask for. He didn’t want to have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>prove</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was from the future, because that seemed rather like he’d fail, considering how little he actually paid attention to history growing up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Claudia and Maria, of course, had questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mentioned your father was the Mentor of your region.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of the whole Order, I think, but yes.” He already dreaded this. He didn’t want to talk about his fucking dad. “He was at the Grand Temple with us while we were trying to save the world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was?” Ezio said, frowning a little. “So he saw to it that you were put into the machine, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, yeah. He was kind of the main proponent of that.” Desmond missed the furious look Ezio gave, which was why he kept speaking. “He had to kick my ass to get into it some days. Not that I could put up much of a fight to begin with, though. He used to be able to knock me flat on my back with one hit. That was when I was about thirteen or so, though…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now all of the Auditori were glaring. Not at him, but they all held that same </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’d love to stab something right about now</span>
  </em>
  <span> look that Desmond had always assumed came from Giovanni, though was clearly from Maria.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” Desmond said awkwardly. “I say something wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I think I speak for us all when I say we’re very happy to have you here as long as you’d like,” Claudia said, knives in her voice, in her smile, though they weren’t for Desmond. “We hope you enjoy our hospitality. After all, you should be able to enjoy the world you saved. Ezio, you should introduce him to the rest of the council. Of course, the less people who know about a potential guest from the future, the better, but I trust your judgment on who should be in the know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You, trusting my judgment? That’s new,” Ezio quipped back to her. “Perhaps we will visit the barracks and the thieves tomorrow, and Leonardo later on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not Niccolo?” Claudia said with a tilt to her head. “You’d think he’d need to be in the know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s been locked in his villa, writing, last I heard,” Ezio said with a wave of his hand. “The last time I interrupted his academic work, he threw a plant at my head.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well. I’m sure he will stay his throwing arm when he learns of your new guest,” Claudia finished sarcastically. “Why not invite them all for dinner at the Rosa in Fiore? It’s been awhile since we met outside of initiations.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will not deny you your right to entertain, sister.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’ll bring Desmond. I trust he’s fine company for dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Desmond will be brought,” he conceded, like it was some huge effort to go out with Desmond. It certainly wasn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Desmond is rather flattered. Thank you,” Desmond said. Again, he missed Ezio’s look of absolute adoration from his side, but his mother and sister certainly didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We will take our leave. Desmond, it’s a pleasure. When you’re off his leash, come visit whenever you’d like,” Claudia said. Ezio almost bristled a little at the reminder of his less-than-forethought nickname, but Desmond didn’t seem to mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d love to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The women flashed one more knowing set of glances at them, and left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wine?” Ezio suggested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, and a bath, maybe. Been literally running around all day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your wish is my command, </span>
  <em>
    <span>cucciolo.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ezio was very pleased with the way Desmond simply smiled, that cute blush going back up on his cheeks like before. “I’ll return.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio departed into the apartment’s washroom, and Desmond could hear him setting up the hearth and pumping water into several large buckets to warm by the fire. If he’d been brought up in any less of Spartan conditions, Desmond would have complained about the time it took for something so simple as a bath, but as it was, he could probably count the times a shower had been warm enough and long enough to satisfy on one hand. He hadn’t had a bath since he was a kid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond joined him in the washroom. He’d gotten out of his regular garb, clearly intent on settling down the rest of the evening. He was in a rather light looking linen shirt, with bits of embroidery and frills at the cuffs and collar, though the cuffs were rolled up to his elbows to keep from getting wet. His trousers rounded out the incredible curve of his ass, and cut a very nice figure of the man for Desmond’s mind to short-circuit at the sight of. Without looking behind him, Ezio said to Desmond, “You did very well today, running the ruins with me. You have skill.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Desmond said softly, smiling in pleasure. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll get better as I put muscle back on, but. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Ezio did turn to look. “Your body will remember it. I’m eager to see your full strength, if I may be forward.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-you may,” Desmond allowed. Ezio stood, having gathered enough water for a bath. It warmed on the hearth. The assassin stalked over to the man in the doorway, and pulled him closer, by the sleeve of his robes. With deft fingers, Ezio undid the belts and buckles holding him together, and dropped them in a heap on the ground, to be laundered or put away later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They weren’t the same flashy, strawberry-shortcake nonsense only Ezio could really pull off, but instead a soft dove gray, with black scroll details along the collar and hems. Lace, in a dark ochre, lined most of the outer robes, and featured on the undershirt as well. Desmond felt at least fifteen pounds lighter without all of the equipment and clothing on. In all honesty, he was still getting used to the weight. Ezio would expect him to carry armor and weapons, and the few yards of fabric seemed to wind Desmond on their own. I took him quite a bit of time for his train of thought to catch up with Ezio’s hands, and he let out a squawk of indignance when the undershirt was pulled off his head, leaving him bare from the waist up. “Ezio!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew Ezio was a fine creature, muscles cut from marble and tanned by years in the Italian sun. Desmond was a pale reflection of that, literally. The months spent in the Animus, hiding from the world, and his nights working at Bad Weather and all the bars before that meant he was a little on the pasty side. On top of the lack of muscle definition, and the wasted look to his body, borne from hunger and dehydration while in the coma, he must have looked rather pitiful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The assassin, however, did not seem to mind in the least. His eyes, warm and dark, traced appreciatively over Desmond’s body, the same eyes that critiqued art regularly could not find a flaw to speak of, but perhaps that was his own opinions of the man coming to the forefront of his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the heart’s on fire, smoke gets in the eyes, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio’s eyes caught on Desmond’s left arm, the beautiful scrollwork and intricate design of his tattoo. Warm hands took his arm, and held it up to see better in the light from the hearth. “This is good work,” Ezio said approvingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Desmond said roughly, his skin radiant where Ezio touched him. “It’s just a year old or so. Drunken whim, but...it’s nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s similar to my own,” Ezio said, before releasing him and pulling off his shirt and tugging down his trousers on one side Desmond almost babbled in shock, if it weren’t for the fact he forgot what words were when he caught what Ezio meant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thick black lines, like flames or simple geometry to the uninitiated, spread in the Assassin’s Crest over Ezio’s thigh and hip. Like his body wasn’t even his own, Desmond reached forward to touch. He had no idea Ezio had tattoos. Most of the memories he’d experienced had been rather...clothed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The skin was smooth, despite the starkness of the ink, but Ezio’s body held the same coiled muscle here as it did in his arms and his chest. The master assassin watched wordlessly as Desmond traced his fingertips over the edge of the crest, the spindly lines at the edge branching out into nothingness. His touch held the bravery of the mesmerized, and the curiosity of the innocent. “My own is just a few years old, on a trip back to Firenze with Leonardo. He designed this for me, in fact.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leonardo. Da Vinci?” Desmond clarified, still in awe of the man after all these years. His fingers pulled away from Ezio’s hip reluctantly, and his pants came back up to rest over the bulk of the tattoo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Ezio said, amused. “Come, the water must be ready.” Together, they loaded the water into the large tub, which was slightly steaming by the end. “Go on, get in,” Ezio said, busying himself with some little jars at a table in the corner.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Did he—? Oh, maybe this is just a Renaissance thing, you know, two dudes being bath buddies, okay.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond quickly stepped out of the rest of his clothes and stepped gingerly into the tub, sinking into the hot water with a groan. After four months of cold showers because Abstergo didn’t care, and because the Assassins preferred to rough it whenever possible, Desmond hadn’t felt this warm since his arm was turned into Isu McNuggets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio, of course, had to steel himself and force himself to think of horrible, terrible, disgusting things when he heard the noise Desmond made. The man had absolutely no idea what he was doing to him, and that somehow made the torture even worse. When he turned around, Desmond had his head thrown back against the side of the tub, his whole body splayed into the hot water as much as possible. The long line of his neck blended perfectly into his shoulders and the rest of his body, and Ezio took a few selfish moments to simply observe him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence grew too tense after a few moments, however, and Desmond peeked an eye open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really like this bath,” he said sheepishly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I shall have to keep you from the ones at the Rosa in Fiore, then. You may never leave.” Ezio took up a stool and sat behind Desmond, lathering a bit of soap into his hands before working his long fingers into Desmond’s hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A full-body shiver rushed through the younger man, and he couldn’t help the small noise that left his mouth when he started massaging the fragrant soap into his scalp. Ezio’s hands stilled for a moment, before starting back up again, moving gentler now that he had a bit of an idea of how sensitive to touch Desmond was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” came the timid whisper from Desmond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t apologize. It’s always a pleasure to know I’m doing a good job.” He moved his hands down to rub away at the knots in Desmond’s neck and shoulders. The man was tense as a rock, and must be in some level of pain at every moment. A shame. If Ezio had anything to say about that, Desmond would never feel pain or tension again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hummed while he worked, washing away the grime that had accumulated over the day, and rinsing Desmond’s body off where he could. Desmond almost fell asleep in the tub, exhausted and fully at peace. Ezio held up the soap bar to Desmond and spoke directly in his ear. “Would you like to stay like this and let me handle the rest?” he purred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond jolted a little, worked over the words in his head, and gaped at Ezio when he realized his meaning. “I can wash myself!” he insisted, taking the soap with slippery fingers. Ezio took no offense to it, knowing how skittish the boy was. Any seduction was going to be a long shot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll find you something to wear, then. Enjoy your bath, </span>
  <em>
    <span>caro.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond waited at least until Ezio was out of the room before he washed the rest of his body, taking inventory of himself as well. Even the scar from when he’d broken his leg at seven years old was gone. It was a surprise, he bore none of the marks his past had made on him, but he still had his tattoo, he still had the bar-fight lip scar, and he still bore the mental ones. He sent up a quiet thanks to Jupiter and enjoyed just being in the warm bath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio had left the clothes on the small corner table, and gone downstairs to do...something, which spurred Desmond into a frantic game of dancing around and trying not to fall into the tub </span>
  <em>
    <span>or</span>
  </em>
  <span> the fire while he figured out how clothes worked, now that his arms and legs had become noodles. The assassin returned with dinner, and they ate in relative silence. Ezio went to go bathe, and Desmond shyly retreated to his room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond sat on the bed, still in a state of disbelief at its very existence having anything to do with him. There were years of his adult life he didn’t even have a soft place to rest his head at night, and Ezio had given him his own space, food, clothes, understanding, and care, like it was nothing that would ever bother him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look stricken. What’s wrong?” Ezio was toweling off his hair, just in his trousers, again, though they were much more low-slung than before. The tattoo teased a little higher over the waistband, tempting and taunting Desmond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing. I’m…” he looked around, felt the cover on the bed. “Thank you, Ezio. For everything. You could’ve let me handle myself back at the port, and...I never expected any of this. I’m in your debt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are most welcome. Your things should be in that wardrobe, and my room is across the way. Unless there’s...anything else you need tonight?” The meaning in his tone, in his words, held almost no doubt what Ezio meant, but Desmond wasn’t quite ready to open up </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> can of worms right now. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Listen, Ez, I know you’re the hottest thing to ever walk in front of my field of vision, but I haven’t even been kissed before, and— </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond swallowed down a surge of embarrassment. “No, I’m. I should be okay. To sleep. What’s happening tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio just grinned, relishing the challenge that sat before him. “That’s for us to find out tomorrow, and not a moment sooner. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Buonanotte, cucciolo.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Buonanotte,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ezio.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. paesi che non ho mai veduto</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mentore,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Signora Claudia has sent a message.” The assassin recruit, a young man named Tommasso who had been a little too serious for the thieves guild, stood before Ezio’s door, clearly eager despite the early hour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She should be asleep,” Ezio muttered. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“I</span>
  </em>
  <span> should be asleep.” He took the message and thanked Tommasso, before stepping over to the desk in the corner. He chanced a glance at Desmond’s door, but it was still shut. The man was still asleep. In his still half-asleep state, Ezio fantasized about crawling in and holding Desmond close, smelling the scent of him as freely as he wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not yet. Soon. Not yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The message was an invitation to dinner the following evening written in code, which meant the same message had been most likely sent to the others. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I should visit Leonardo today and ensure he got his invitation, he tends not to decipher assassin messages until he has to.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave another look at Desmond’s door. Already, Leonardo was well-known and sought-after in this time. For Desmond to know of him with little to no explanation was a good sign for Leonardo’s lasting genius, he decided.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s going to be a nightmare about the time travel thing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But first, coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio was suspicious when he entered the kitchen. It was spotless. The pantry was well-stocked, and there was an already-brewed pot of coffee just the way Ezio liked it, sugar mixed with the grounds. “Hm,” he said, frowning at the coffee. It didn’t smell poisoned. It didn’t taste poisoned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Even if it were poisoned, Ezio would have probably continued drinking it. He’d die awake and eyes open, thank you very much.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second suspicious moment came when he walked down to the general gathering room. It was normally a mess of furniture and documents, weapon care tools strewn about, even whole piles of laundry out on the floor. It looked better than it ever had. The stones had been scrubbed. The hearth had been swept. The charts table had been organized. It didn’t smell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A quick peek in the ceremony chamber, the armory, and the gallery told the same story.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, what the fuck is going on?” Ezio growled into his coffee. He talked to himself on occasion, of course, most people working in solitude often do. However, the walls and corners of the Tiber Island Hideout had ears and eyes, and his question was not so much answered as it was made even more confusing when two dozen </span>
  <em>
    <span>bashful</span>
  </em>
  <span> assassins peeked out from behind pillars and cabinets and arches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Has Desmond come down for breakfast yet?” Giulia, it was always Giulia, asked. The three closest recruits smacked her arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s asleep. What do you want?” Ezio asked, probably looking a right state, in his house slippers, no shirt, hair a mess, holding his coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We wanted to know if he wanted to perhaps train with us today,” another recruit said. Smart tactic, Ezio thought. Confuse the old man so no one takes the blame themselves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He has a full schedule the next two days,” Ezio said. Four dozen shoulders slumped in unison. “However I’m sure he’d be more keen to come down for breakfast if there was something tempting to eat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Half the group scattered up to the kitchen, already shouting orders and ideas. The rest obviously had something to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Out with it, it’s cold in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Giulia piped up once more. “If you wanted to do work here at the hideout, we’d be happy to attach a detail to Desmond to show him around Roma until his next appointment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought of Desmond being more than a few paces from him at any waking moment made Ezio frown, and the rest of the assassins wince. However, he did not want to trap Desmond here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will consider it. His training will be different than yours. He already has experience, but is recovering from a recent injury. Better that only I adapt than make all of you do so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, most of the recruits had not been trained or educated in any formal sense, so nepotism wasn’t part of their vocabulary. They all agreed with Ezio anyway. Desmond was special. He deserved special things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re dismissed. Don’t let me see this many of you down here at once again, </span>
  <em>
    <span>capite?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sí, Mentore!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go check on Desmond.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ignored the rather gossipy titters as he walked back to his rooms. It seemed the whole hideout was fawning over their guest. Ezio really couldn’t blame them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knocked politely on Desmond’s door before entering. The man was completely wrapped up in the sheets, obviously tossing and turning the whole night. Ezio had to steel himself at the image of Desmond tangled up in bedsheets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ezzy-o?” Desmond mumbled, blinking awake as Ezio sat on the end of the bed. “Time’s it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too early, I think. Your presence is requested for breakfast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that coffee?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my coffee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could it be </span>
  <em>
    <span>our</span>
  </em>
  <span> coffee?” Desmond gave a sleepy pout. “Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You drive a hard bargain. Get dressed and I’ll let you finish this cup.” Ezio caught a flash of Desmond’s long bare leg as he scrambled out of bed. He left the coffee on the dresser and went to go get dressed as well. They’d take the leisurely walk to see Leonardo. It was much too early to be calling on anyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I don’t—” he looked to see what Desmond was talking about. He was holding up a waistcoat like Ezio had held baby Claudia the first time he met her: confused, and a little terrified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to know this isn’t in style inter future,” Ezio muttered as he helped Desmond dress. He remembered the staff they kept at the Palazzo in Firenze, and the one they had in Monteriggioni, so he knew generally how to dress another, but in practice, he didn’t know it would be so...intimate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took his time brushing down the wrinkles in the fabric, cinching in the sides as was fashionable. He’d wear his robes over top when they went out, but for now, he wouldn’t look out of place in any fashionable party in Rome or Florence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feel nice?” Ezio asked in a murmur, running his fingers along where the waistcoat met the undershirt. This was money well spent, truthfully. Desmond, for as uncomfortable as an air he put on, looked dashing. Even the tighter pants he wore today looked good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feels like clothes.” Desmond reached for the coffee, just to have something to distract him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they came down to the gathering room, the table and benches were all set out like it was some grand meal instead of several baskets of fruit, bread, and coffee. Some cold meats were on a few plates. Ezio looked at the heavens how his mother always did in exasperation. What would his father say, to see the brotherhood thusly?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d probably be unable to speak, as Giovanni Auditore was well known for laughing himself into shaking silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond looked rather impressed by the whole display, and even thanked the recruits for the effort. Ezio just concentrated on eating something while they were all distracted. Every time he tuned in to their conversation, they were introducing themselves to Desmond, offering to train him, show him around Roma, asking him questions he deflected much better than he did at the previous group meal. Ezio made sure to snatch a few pieces of food, depositing them on his distracted guest’s plate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took over conversation when it turned to business matters, and tapped the edge of Desmond’s plate to indicate </span>
  <em>
    <span>eat while you can.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was, admittedly, an incredibly delightful meal. It reassured Ezio that Desmond was so accepted into the group from seemingly the first moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only hoped Claudia’s dinner went the same way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that was something to worry over the next day. For today, he was introducing Desmond to Leonardo. They went to the stables after donning their robes. Ezio noted with a pleased nod that his assassins were already beginning their patrols along the Tevere, moving in pairs. Two sets of blue robes trotted along together, mid-level ranking assassins. A red-robed novice and a black-robed veteran moved together, the veteran imparting a lesson on their charge. Only full-ranked assassins could wear the white robes and patrol alone, and Ezio only let the white shadows follow him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Niccolo had scoffed at his ideas for changing the robes to indicate rank, until Ezio pointed out that if they diversified their uniform, it would make the more vulnerable recruits harder to identify, since Ezio himself wore white robes like the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They approached the stables near the Ponte Fabricio on the northeast side of the island. “Can you ride? It’d take a very long time to reach Leonardo if we went on foot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond regarded the horses like they would eat him whole if they wanted to. “I’ve never ridden a horse. I can’t even drive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio was sure this meant something more significant in the future. “We’ll ride together, then.” He selected a larger horse to take, paid the stablemaster, and mounted up. He held a gloved hand out to Desmond and let him take the stirrups. It took a lot of confidence to make up for Desmond’s lack of grace, but they got him up and secure. “Hold onto me. Lean in when we pick up speed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio took off, giving Desmond half a second to throw his arms around Ezio’s waist and hold on for dear life. They flew through the city in a blur. It was as if the horse knew the way better than Ezio, for how smooth it was. Desmond caught a glimpse of the ruins between the rooftops, and craned his head for a better view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to go closer?” Ezio asked, slowing down the horse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we have time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All we have is time,” Ezio said, before changing course and heading into the Campagna district.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d shown Desmond around a bit of the ruins in the southeastern part of the city, but they’d been moving very fast. He’d have to take him on a full tour soon, if not to get him familiar with Rome, then to simply have the chance to watch that face relax in wonderment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t have much to offer in terms of knowledge about the ruins, but knew enough to mention the underground lairs they were probably riding on top of. “You mean the followers of Romulus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s exactly who I mean,” Ezio said with a smile. “There’s several places I’ve yet to explore, though. Would you care to join me on the next?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe when my grip strength is back,” Desmond said, but gave an appreciative squeeze around Ezio’s middle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They arrived at Leonardo’s a little past ten, and Salaí answered the workshop door. “Yes?” the man asked, perpetually unimpressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, Salaí, is he in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is who in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Infuriating man, honestly. Ezio shoved him aside. Muse or not, he was rude.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leonardo!” He called. Desmond quietly closed the door and gently tripped Salaí as he walked forward, giving the miffed muse a shrug of inculpability.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds like someone I know!” A voice called, before feet came swiftly down stairs. Leonardo da Vinci whirled around the staircase, one hand keeping his hat on his head while his cape flared out. He was the picture of grace, and overdramatic. It really was no wonder that he and Ezio got along so well. “Ezio.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The friends embraced, happy to see one another again. Salaí, knowing he wasn’t going to get any attention anytime soon, retreated to a sunny couch with a sketchbook and a scowl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve brought a friend!” Leonardo exclaimed, never missing a detail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond almost froze in shock. For all the prattling Shaun Hastings loved to do, he really did tell the best stories when it came to the people and events in history he found interesting. There was no one more interesting to him than Leonardo da Vinci.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know why he was only able to make a sort of stepped-on frog noise, but that’s what came out of Desmond’s mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio saved him, like always. “Leonardo, this is a friend of mine, Desmond Miles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Recognition of the name shone in Leonardo’s eyes. He looked to Ezio, a question on his face. The assassin nodded, and Leonardo’s eyebrows shot up so quickly Desmond thought they’d fly off. “Really,” Leonardo said, absolutely astonished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d love to tell you more, if you weren’t busy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely not. Salaí, I need you to be across town. There’s that delivery you have to. Whatever I will pay you if you leave right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Their company so much better that you’d pay to not be in mine? Very well.” Salaí stole a few florins from a box and sauntered out. The two older men both seemed much less interested in that than they were in Desmond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get us some wine.” Desmond was starting to learn exactly how prolific wine was in the Renaissance, and didn’t particularly mind. He never got drunk around other people, too many people that could take advantage, but the few times he had a place to stay, alone, he preferred wine over most other drinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Desmond. This is not a name I’ve heard outside of, well, you know, I’m assuming.” Leonardo gathered them in a comfy sitting room with a beautiful view of a balcony garden, and Rome beyond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m from across the ocean, I think you all call it the New World for several hundred years.” Desmond watched Leonardo’s face light up even more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Several hundred years, how peculiar. So you are from the future, how we thought you may be. Tell me of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leonardo, there’s something you should understand before your questions,” Ezio cut in. “The reason Desmond is here is because he saved the world from the event we were told of. It was at great cost, and he paid for it with his life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond should have felt more uncomfortable with the whole situation, but with Ezio handling matters, he felt comfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then how are you here? Was it something to do with the Apple?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that,” Desmond said into his wine. “I was needed as a sacrifice, and no good deed goes unpunished, I suppose. In...death, I guess, one of the folks who created the Apple, the Staff, the other artifacts, they appeared and cut a deal. I couldn’t have my life returned to me in 2012, but I could have life...here. Now. For as long as I liked. It’s certainly free of most things I was wary of then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This makes sense. Would you mind terribly if I wrote any of this down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So long as it’s in your hand,” Desmond said, recalling Shaun’s countless hours of expositing (see: lecturing) about the vast amazing things Leonardo had accomplished in his life. One of which was the ability to write backwards, which was not only more efficient for his left-handedness, but also concealed his notes from any prying eyes. Leonardo met Desmond’s gaze, and jolted a little in shock that he would know of this. Ezio hadn’t even gleaned onto the strange writing in all the years they knew one another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So it shall,” Leonardo said, fumbling for a sheaf of paper, the first time his grace had been shaken since they met. Desmond tried not to feel accomplished at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio looked at Desmond, clearly noticing the doublespeak happening, but not remarking on it. “I do not wish to barrage you with questions about the future which would give us a tactical advantage over our enemies—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Save this once, I’m guessing?” Desmond smirked a little. Ezio gave a shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you blame me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all. I guess…” Desmond sat back and sighed. He really should have paid better attention in history, or just in general to the years he lived through Ezio in Constantinople. He would have to choose his words fairly carefully. Changing too many things at once would alter the course of time, of course, but this was his own future, no one else’s. “Some things about the plague and general medicine may be useful, as I remember them. The doctors have the right idea, wearing masks, but I don’t think we need something that drastic. Uh...fuck, wash your hands?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other men sat in an almost shocked silence, if it weren’t for Leonardo’s furious scribbling with a quill. “Masks?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, like. Cover your face. A lot of disease is passed through the air, and we should probably cover our mouths when we cough. And by that I mean definitely. Yeah. Again, I’m not a scientist, I never finished high school, I know how to tend bar and that’s about it. But even there I had health standards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I put the corpses away?” Leonardo muttered to himself, rushing behind a cloth draped over an archway. Desmond made a face. Leonardo stormed back in, like an indecisive hurricane. “Later. I’ll do that later. So leeches. Are they—?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond shuddered, remembering a rather unpleasant experience learning how to swim in one of the swamps near the Farm. “No leeches.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No leeches.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Leonardo wrote it down, and added several points of emphasis. Ezio looked bewildered. They drank the wine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond greatly enjoyed talking with Leonardo. He learned about as much as he taught, and appreciated his expensive taste. Ezio may have been former nobility, but he definitely had a background in bumming it, and it showed in places.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a surprising lack of questions about technology, showing genuine interest in all matter of topics, from society to art to culture to geography. He even gave a triumphant point at Ezio when Desmond mentioned the solar system.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Around the sun. I told you. I told him,” Leo said, almost wiggling in excitement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio drank his wine. “Have you received any letters from Claudia?” he asked about an hour later. The day was not wasted, but spent well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, in fact. At some ungodly hour, if I remember.” Ezio gave a grunt of agreement. “I’ve sent back a confirmation that I’d be at dinner. A gathering of the whole council. I’m assuming this is also so they can meet Desmond, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond looked away shyly, unused to the man’s boundless energy and bouncing focus. “You’re correct,” Ezio said. “Since he accepted my extended hospitality, I figured we clear the air before any questions arise. You know how suspicious they all get.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That I do. So you’ve met Claudia and Maria, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did, they’re...I think they liked me? Not sure. Haven’t really given them anything </span>
  <em>
    <span>to</span>
  </em>
  <span> like just yet.” Leonardo watched Ezio watching Desmond. He may have not unlocked all the secrets of the human body just yet, but he did know Ezio longer than most, and he knew that look. It was the look that had him sprinting to a gondola in Forlí to save a damsel, it was the look he returned from the first flight experiment in Venice with, despite its failure. The man was wild with passion, and it was currently pointed in Desmond’s direction. The younger man, however, barely seemed to notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fascinating. He’d definitely have to arrive early to dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waved them off as the night grew longer, and they took a more scenic route through the ruins for Desmond to gawk at. The horse was rather pleased, used to much more inexperienced riders as it was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we go back and see him again sometime?” Desmond asked into Ezio’s ear, still holding his waist. The moon was much brighter tonight than when Desmond had first arrived, casting the tops of buildings in an ethereal glow, contrasting with the warm torches which lit the lower streets and squares.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. He always appreciates company, and I am sure he appreciated yours almost as much as I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost?” Desmond asked coyly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think there’s a single person who could like you as much as I do, </span>
  <em>
    <span>cucciolo.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond bit his lip in a pleased smile. “I suppose could say the same for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe you.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>can you tell that my id absolutely jumped out</p><p>what would you tell people in the past if they asked you about the future?</p><p>(also for those keeping up with chapter titles, the previous chapters were all lyrics from the song Che Vuole Questa Musica Stasera by Peppino Gagliardi. The next few are going to be lyrics from con te partirò, you know, the Andrea Bocelli song everyone knows)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. mostra a tutti il mio cuore a che hai acceso</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next day, of course, was rife with a buzzing curiosity. Ezio holed himself and Desmond up in his office to keep prying eyes away. The council got first pick of the questions to ask Desmond, and once they formulated some kind of believable story to stick to, then the others could gradually know more and more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Rosa in Fiore had its windows covered and the outside torch extinguished, indicating the place was closed for the evening. Even the usual girls who lounged about in the square were gone, and as a result, so were the crowds. Ezio and Desmond had taken a horse there, like yesterday, but they had a few recruits in white tailing them in case news of their meeting had been compromised. They’d patrol the rooftops around the bordello during the meeting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It seemed everyone was already there when the pair arrived.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The large gathering room at the Rosa in Fiore was off in an inner wing of the building, providing for more privacy and discretion. The circus inside stilled when Ezio and Desmond walked in. Luckily, Leonardo, Claudia, and Maria all stepped closer to say hello, helping them out of their robes so they could relax for dinner. Desmond felt the tips of his ears turning redder by the minute.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Would you like a drink, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Messere?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> a woman, clearly one of the courtesans, offered to Desmond, bypassing even Ezio, who felt a pinch of indignant offense. Desmond fumbled to accept it, and she walked away without another word to Ezio.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His pout was tremendous. Desmond shared a laugh with him and grinned, patting his arm with a bold, “Don’t worry, you’re still pretty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at the rest of the room, who were in varying states of subtly looking at him. On the more inconspicuous side was La Volpe, his violet eyes watching with interest, even as he spoke to another courtesan tasked with serving the meal that evening. On the other hand, Bartolomeo D’Alviano was staring at Desmond with a look that most resembled a surprised fish. It was also the mercenary who spoke first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought he was bringing another Piece of Eden. That’s a whole man!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My love,” Pantasilea said at his side, through gritted teeth. “Perhaps it’s why we’re at dinner with friends, and not receiving a summons to the hideout.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is why I married you. I don’t know how you put up with me. Do the manners, my wife.” Desmond braced himself as the D’Alviani came up to him and Ezio.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You must be our guest of honor,” Pantasilea said, polite and curious, clearly holding her husband back with all her mental power. “I am Pantasilea Baglioni, and this is my husband, Bartolomeo d’Alviano.” Desmond could see where she also bore the Assassin brand, just like the rest of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pleasure to meet you, Pantasilea. I’m Desmond Miles.” God, but it felt like he was doing all this over again, and that he already knew all of them. The suspicious glances he’d walked in to turned swiftly to recognition, as Leonardo and the Auditori had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pantasilea kept her cool, though, and offered her hand. Desmond, of course, shook it like he would have shaken anyone else’s hand, which delighted her to no end. He fidgeted a little, looking to Ezio for his next cue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did he say Desmond? Like the Desmond in the Vatican?” La Volpe spoke now, looking around to the others. Leonardo and the Auditore women nodded. “I suppose this is best discussed over dinner. Nice thinking, Claudia.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All my thinking is nice,” she said breezily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just then, the doors they’d just walked through opened, and in walked Niccolo Machiavelli. “I hope this is something important,” he said, adjusting his sleeves as he looked around. He scowled, noticing the generally relaxed atmosphere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Niccolo. Welcome in. We can take our seats now,” Claudia directed, the perfect hostess as always. Ezio took his seat at the large round table set up in the center of the room, one seat set out for each member of the council, in addition to Leonardo, Maria, and Desmond, of course. Niccolo sat to the right of Ezio, and the others seemed to follow suit, knowing their places beforehand. With a quick nod of his head, Ezio bade Desmond to sit at his left, which rose eyebrows all around the table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fucking Renaissance customs. Desmond was still lamenting about the handshake thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Could you do me the honor of telling me what is going on?” Niccolo said, straight to the point, no time to waste.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, Niccolo,” Ezio said, rolling his eyes. “Let’s at least eat something, please?” Claudia signaled the courtesans to bring out their food.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Was it Desmond?” La Volpe asked from Desmond’s left, eyes almost sparkling with interest. “I’ve heard of a man arriving from seemingly out of the sky and falling into the Tevere. That wouldn’t happen to be you, would it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In fact, it was,” Desmond said with a shy little smile. “Ezio managed to find me before I could get into too much trouble.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The incident at the port, then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rest of the table watched with interest, but Ezio was clearly waiting until the staff left the room. Once they were suitably served and well into the wine, Claudia signaled to them again and they left, closing the door behind them after a flirty wave in Desmond’s direction. Ezio took a deep breath and met the eyes of each person at the table before speaking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When I went into the vault in the Vatican eight years past, I was a man entrenched in a conspiracy which had only brought questions to my life, and yielded no answers. Within the Vault, I found the same thing, just questions and mystery. I was told of a global catastrophe, preventable by only one man, hundreds of years from now. In this lack of a path before me, I sought to do what I could, understanding that my purpose, at least to this goddess, was done. I had life enough ahead of me, though, and I looked to my friends, my family, to rebuild the world in such a way that I hoped it would make things at least safer, if not easier, for this prophesied man to do as Destiny bade him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In the last few years, in the tearing down of the walls the Templars have put up, I have resigned myself to the fate of never knowing what the future holds. I killed Cesare Borgia not a fortnight ago. This seemed like it was finally the act that would ensure the peace we all fight for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And then.” Ezio smiled at something, and brought his wine to his lips. “I met a strange man at the port upon my return to Roma. He knew things about me and our order that would have made me suspicious, if it weren’t for his name.” He sipped his wine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The relative quiet which had fallen over the room during his speech erupted as all of the council members started shouting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’d better not be implying what I think you are—!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doesn’t he need to go back and save the world?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s Italian?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can he even fight?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why is he here!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ezio, I thought he was your son!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“HA!” Claudia laughed, pointing at Ezio. “I’m not the only one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re still not funny,” Ezio scowled, an older brother to the end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maria and Leonardo were suspiciously quiet, but deeply smug and proud that they were able to get to see this group freakout without participating in it. The others, save Bartolomeo, who was trying to loudly ascertain what level of combat skills Desmond possessed, noticed this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You three. How long have you known about this,” Machiavelli said, his scowl somehow even deeper than before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only a day or so. We had a very lovely conversation. And no, Ezio is not Desmond’s father,” Maria clarified. “Though the thought was compelling for about the first five minutes of our meeting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Even my own mother, I can’t believe this,” Ezio muttered, crossing his arms. Desmond watched all of this with great interest. He wondered when the knives would come out. He ate a piece of bread, in the meantime.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Think of it this way,” Leonardo said, and the others turned to look. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, this was why Ezio took me to meet him first. He wouldn’t have been able to translate the nonsense I’ve been spouting the last few days.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Desmond already saved the world, and after, he walked through a door from his time into ours. The door locked behind him, and there’s no way back through it. He’s here with us, and we all have better things to do than try to break through the fabric of time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even Bartolomeo could understand that. Desmond continued to eat bread, enjoying that the attention was not on him, for at least a little bit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A foot hooked around his ankle from the right, and he jolted a little in his seat, but when he realized it was Ezio, he just tried to stuff his face with more food, like it would stop the blush from deepening on his cheeks. Ezio was trying to keep him grounded and calm. Having the world’s deadliest assassin in his corner was a rather comforting thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And we haven’t thought to ask him about our enemies’ future plans at all, so that we may prevent them?” Machiavelli chimed in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Here it is.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The table quieted. Desmond met Machiavelli’s eyes. “There are more important things you all can do without trying to use me,” Desmond said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The whole goddamn table saw how Ezio’s entire demeanor melted into a sticky, gooey pile of man-in-love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Niccolo was at first resistant to letting his proposed strategy fall to the wayside, but his mind ticked through the points Desmond had implied. To use him like a tool was to dehumanize him. He was already a man with the fate of the world on his shoulders, who had never even thought to shrug at the moment he felt its weight. There was more to the story than opening and closing doors, like da Vinci had said. Desmond’s eyes held a darkness and fight to them. He had been used before, by those he trusted more than those at the table. He would not be used again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was almost more shocking to see the politician concede his point than to argue it. Desmond just held his eyes until the food proved a better sight overall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes that’s nice but can he fight?” Bartolomeo asked once more, full-fisting the cutlery like he could strangle the answers out of the silverware.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“He</span>
  </em>
  <span> would rather not fight,” Desmond said with a sigh. “Saving the world takes a bit out of you, unfortunately.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were injured,” La Volpe said, seeing more than most.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I died,” Desmond corrected, before putting more food and wine in his mouth. The table watched with varying levels of pity and horror. “Oh, don’t all of you act like you wouldn’t have made the same choice. You’ve all nearly died for the Order dozens of times.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I like this one, Ezio,” La Volpe said with a grin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bartolomeo chucked a wine cork at Desmond’s head. It bounced.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, fair.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So what will you do now, Desmond?” Pantasilea asked, kicking her husband not-so-subtly under the table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s still recovering from…” Ezio floundered, unsure of what to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dying.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, thank you. He’s still on the mend. But he will train with me at the hideout, and wherever his skills take him, he’ll go.” Ezio was very decisive about his fate, which would have rankled coming from anyone else, but Desmond didn’t mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’m essentially on a huge afterlife vacation. If I can help, I’d love to. Within reason.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great, we will see you at the barracks when Ezio deems you recovered enough from being dead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And at La Volpe Addormentata, as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not that I think Ezio would like you doing any work here, we’d still love to have you here, if just to please the girls.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezio decidedly did not comment on any of the offers, especially the last one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My new friend, my door is open for you as well, at any time,” Leonardo said, a genuine smile on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, all of you,” Desmond said, humbled by their kindness and willingness to accept him. In truth, it was because of Ezio. Had they not seen how their mentor so obviously felt about him, and heard the story of his life before coming to Roma, they would have most likely stabbed first, asked questions later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Also, he was just so so stinkin’ cute.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rest of dinner was spent in general good spirits, celebrating the fall of the Borgia and their decisive victory over the Templar order. For now, of course, because maintaining a growing Assassin Brotherhood was a full-time job with a new problem to work on each day. Hopefully, with a new set of eyes and a </span>
  <em>
    <span>wildly </span>
  </em>
  <span>fresh perspective, they would see only success until they met their maker.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So Desmond was captured in like august of 2012 right and got Isu deep fried december 21 2012 so he was without a lot of whatever popular media was happening but I do know that being a bartender in a fancyish bar in New York City Desmond would have absolutely known the cup song and listened to all of the released singles from Taylor Swift’s RED album but would have been in Monteriggioni when the album was released so Desmond would have never probably been able to listen to All Too Well which is a fucking travesty also I have been up all goddamn night reading Study of Flight by esama so I’m a little ridiculous and emotional about Desmond so go read that and emotionally destroy yourself happy Saturday 🥰</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. mio sole tu sei qui con me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Two weeks went by both excruciatingly slow and incredibly quickly, depending on the moment and who was bemoaning them. Desmond took to Ezio’s brand of training rather well, starting his mornings with a run around the almost-empty streets of Rome, before returning to the hideout and eating a morning meal with the other recruits. The muscle mass he’d lost was returning. After he ate with them, Ezio would observe the sparring practice between Desmond and the other recruits, before taking part himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond knew Ezio’s fighting style incredibly well. It was about the only advantage he had when going up against him. The power Ezio put behind every move and blow came as a shock to Desmond and the other recruits every time. When he’d been experiencing Ezio’s memories via the Animus, he moved with an easy, deadly grace. He understood now that the only way to achieve anything close to that grace was through incredibly hard work and training. He’d never met someone as focused and concentrated as Ezio Auditore, which made him a formidable sparring partner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, it seemed the Bleeding Effect had some kind of residual “better help this guy out” instinct, which had his body moving in a dance led by Connor Kenway, by Altair, in an effort to take Ezio off guard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those moments he did take Ezio down on the carpeted sparring area always filled him with warmth and pride. By the look of Ezio’s barely-suppressed grins from the ground, he felt the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After sparring, Desmond didn’t depart with the other groups of recruits to get guild training across the city. He stayed up in Ezio’s office, reading or writing, whatever came to mind. Ezio just liked seeing him curled up like a cat, completely lost in whatever book struck his fancy that day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond, it seemed, was a bit of an artist, but not in any style Ezio had ever seen before. The lines were thicker, bolder, though still recognizably the shape of the assassin crest, or sometimes heavily-stylized words and phrases Ezio couldn’t hope to decipher, from how artistic they were. Leonardo would be fascinated by it, he was sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the evenings before meals, Desmond and Ezio would go out again, less physical training than mental training. They walked the streets together, and Ezio had him track specific people in the crowd, or plant something on a guard without them noticing. It was a fun exercise, giving and not taking, following but not </span>
  <em>
    <span>following through</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the way Ezio always seemed to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was also an excuse to spend time with Desmond alone, but Ezio didn’t admit that to the man, nor anybody else. Whenever he felt himself bubbling up with the urge to reach out and </span>
  <em>
    <span>touch,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he turned to whatever shop or stall was closest, and bought Desmond another little gift to make him blush and give that same small smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And in the nights, well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond was fairly adamant about bathing well and often, which, to Ezio, was strange, but he didn’t complain. He always helped set up the bath for Desmond, and always washed his hair and upper body as he’d done that first time. He’d squeeze his hands over the growing muscles in his arms and chest, his widening shoulders and the callouses forming over his fingertips. Ezio was very appreciative of him, the stark reminders and evidence of his attention paying off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are getting very strong,” Ezio said one night, while Desmond was half-asleep after a fairly rough night of chasing actual horses around the city, when one of the stablehands had accidentally scared an entire stable free. “How are you feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tired,” Desmond said honestly, rolling his head back to look at Ezio upside-down. “Better than I have in a long time. I have friends I don’t have to lie to, I have a bed to sleep in at night, and I have an unfairly talented hardass telling me to run the streets of a city I’ve only seen in dreams every day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio pinched his earlobe a little at that, but was still smiling. “Unfairly talented hardass, you say? I think you could use a number of other words to describe me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you’d find the compliment there,” Desmond laughed, closing his eyes again. “You are...sometimes, unbelievable. I thought we’d never get along, were we to ever meet. What with the whole prophecy bullshit, and.” He waved his hand dismissively, unsure of what to say that wouldn’t end in a deeply personal conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why is that?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>It seems we’re taking the deeply personal conversation route.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed. “You’ve devoted so much of yourself to the Order, whether willingly or by force. I ran away from it the second it started to get real.” Desmond frowned, a pained look crossing his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Desmond…” Ezio said softly, but he wasn’t heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew, at some point toward the end, I was born to die. I was created to die. Minerva and Juno and even Jupiter all said it. So...I don’t get to have things like this. Like sleeping in nice beds in safe places, like joking around with others who had no reason to pretend to like me, and knowing where my next meal is coming from, like having a leader who praises my successes and progress instead of kicking every part of me he could reach. I thought we would never connect on something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio brushed his thumbs over the tense muscled in Desmond’s back, urging them to uncoil. “Loyalty is not won through threats and violence. I would never expect anyone to follow me or my cause when I’ve given them nothing to be proud of or content with. Who trained you before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dad,” Desmond said, eyes open again but looking nowhere in particular. He spoke the words with a heaviness that turned Ezio’s insides. “I had an extreme amount of pressure on me from being the Mentor’s son, and every failure was treated like a direct threat to the Order and the fate of the world as a whole. The funniest part was he knew I was just going to die at the end of it all, so I don’t know why he bothered with all the personal training crap he gave me. Don’t think I ever saw him smile, except when I managed to pummel a kid to the ground unconscious. I was horrified. He was delighted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Violence is celebrated even in the future. It doesn’t sound like a future that provides much to hope for.” Ezio ran his fingers through Desmond’s hair, soothing his troubled mind any way he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I ran away not too long after. There was...a fight. My dad and I got into screaming matches almost weekly, and he did use his fists, occasionally, but… I don’t know. He took a knife against me, and I looked over at my mom, saw her silently taking his side, and I realized I had no one in my corner whatsoever. I had nothing. So I ran. I ran as fast as I could and I got lost in running.” His voice cracked a little on the last bit, and his face crumpled in on itself. “And in the end—” he swallowed hard. “I thought to lie about how I felt, if just to soothe his own conscience. I lied and said I loved him, said I loved my mom, said I wished I’d never ran away, and—” He covered his face, embarrassed by the hot tears building behind his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Desmond,” Ezio said again, firmly. He shocked Desmond out of his emotional spiraling by simply coming around and climbing in the tub with him. He knelt with his legs on either side of Desmond’s, uncaring that he was still wearing clothes, uncaring that Desmond was completely nude beneath him. He took Desmond’s face in his hands all the same. “Everything that happened to you, it was an unwinnable game you never asked to play. ‘In the end’ has </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>happened yet. You can be honest and you can choose to not tell me about how you feel, but your happiness is my first priority every day.” There wasn’t even a hint of doubt behind his words. This was a vow, he realized. Ezio did not make them frequently, but he would crawl over hot coals to fulfill those vows, when he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond’s breath caught in his throat, emotions welling under the skin. The weight of Ezio on his thighs, his wet hands against his face, kept him here, in this moment, and not his past. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Ezio,” he admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The assassin’s face softened. “Then let me decide that. Sitting dormant will only let those things multiply and infect you worse than you intended before. Let me lead you.” Desmond opened his mouth to speak, but Ezio covered his mouth with his hand. The sensation of Desmond’s lips moving against his skin stirred something inside of him, but he refocused. “Not as Mentor, not as anything you’d feel obligated to follow. Someone you’d choose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond spoke against his hand. “Then as what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As a friend, perhaps? Someone in your corner. Whatever you want.” If Ezio had his way, it’d be definitely as something </span>
  <em>
    <span>more,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he didn’t think Desmond was very open to that kind of thing currently. Hopefully, in time, and with more healing, they’d get to have that, but Ezio was patient. Or at least, he certainly hoped he would be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someone in my corner,” Desmond breathed in disbelief. “Me? You sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you.” Ezio smiled at him, though his heart ached to see how little Desmond thought of himself. “It will take a lot to shake me off, to lose me. Don’t worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond averted his gaze, clearly thinking the opposite. Ezio vowed that he would have to prove him wrong on that cound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re in the bathtub,” Desmond pointed out with a grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your observation skills grow every day,” Ezio said with a roll of his eyes, before stepping out, dripping all over the place. His thin white chemise stuck to the hard planes of his chest and torso, and his soaking wet breeches left little to the imagination. Desmond swallowed roughly and looked away, wanting what he believed he could not have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miscommunication was a bitch no matter the century.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night, after they’d both dried off, and dressed again, Desmond retired early, ruminating on the evening, the promises Ezio had made, never a hand’s-distance further from him. It surely made laying on the bed, alone, a bit lonesome. He craved that touch again, the sensation of being held and cherished and clearly adored.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His dreams were fitful. He’d relied mainly on the exhaustion Ezio had put him through to carry him through dreamless nights, but his racing mind clearly had other ideas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whenever he had nightmares, they were never his own. He had dreams of anxiety and panic, of course, when he’d been living on the run, but his sleep had been so intermittent that his body had normally taken what it could, mental torture be damned. At Abstergo, the exhaustion from the Animus left him reeling, but never while unconscious. All his nightmares happened when he was awake. Later, in Florence with the Assassin team, he barely had three days before they were running to Monteriggioni.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d seen the emails Rebecca had sent Lucy. He knew he was screaming in his sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The memories had coalesced into the same ones - watching Giovanni, Federico, and Petruccio on the gallows, the quick drop and sudden stop of loss. The too-long distance between himself and Mario Auditore, at the siege. Watching the little walled town in the countryside crumble overnight, even holding Cristina Vespucci in his arms as she died. Watching a peaceful village go down in flames. His village. Watching a friend die over and over and over, in a hundred different ways, a hundred different memories. No matter the knowledge that he was living someone else’s hell, it didn’t make the pain any less.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he screamed over the endless pain, unable to let go of the Eye as it took, took, took until he could give no more. The whole right side of his body seized up into one raw nerve, even his lungs couldn’t take more than a gasp before screaming again, until he was hoarse. Underneath it all was knowing that this was his destiny, it was preordained that he was to die, in pain, and he could do nothing to stop it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Desmond!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands on his shoulders, searing hot and </span>
  <em>
    <span>home.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Cazzo, svegliati, Desmond, sveglia…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like his body realized it had the option to make the pain stop. He jerked forward, sitting upright, clutching at the arms holding him steady. His breath heaved, and his eyes shot around the room, seeing ghosts. The arms were like steel. Whoever this was, holding him, they weren’t going anywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soft lips murmured against his ear, soothing and low and gentle. He melted against them. His protector made a weak noise against him, keeping him close. Desmond couldn’t hope to understand what he was saying, because of the throbbing pain in his right arm. It shot from his fingertips all the way past his shoulder. He made a soft whimper of pain, and found himself being lifted up off the bed, carried toward a better-lit room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He recognized this room. It was the parlor in Ezio’s apartment atop the hideout. There were a few candles still lit around the room, which was how Desmond was able to see. He was hiccuping between Eagle Vision and his regular eyesight, flashing the room in gold-black and soft dim neutrals. Ezio laid him out on the couch and crouched before his arm, now paralyzed with tension.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Relassati, caro, relassati. Io sono qui, sono con te…”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ezio’s hands, deadly things that bear destruction and death, took his arm like it was the most fragile thing on the earth. He kept up his soft humming and hushed words as he dug his thumbs into the muscles, working them a little less tense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not gon’ work, s’burned, I’m burned…” Desmond babbled through the pain, crying now. God, but he hadn’t cried in so long, it seemed like he couldn’t fucking stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh, Desmond, breathe. Just breathe, don’t think about it. I’ve got you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roiling waves of nausea passed over Desmond as Ezio kneaded into the pressure points by his elbow and wrist. Slowly, his hand and arm released from the claw it was holding. He collapsed back against the couch once the tension left him. Ezio brought the light closer, and Desmond looked away. He couldn’t look at the flame, not now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took stock in the rest of his body. He had sweat through his clothes, and had a budding headache building behind his eyes, and he was lightly trembling through it all. “M’sorry,” Desmond said, voice shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have pain anywhere else?” Ezio asked instead. His hands trailed softly up and down the skin of his exhausted arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were you dreaming about what happened to you?” Ezio asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you look at your arm? I promise it’s alright. Maybe seeing it for yourself will help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“H-how do I know it’s not a trick, just still a dream?” Desmond kept his eyes squeezed shut, though he could swear he could see the outline of gold that always followed Ezio everywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll just have to trust me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>caro.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Desmond opened his eyes to look at the ceiling, then at Ezio. He was still in his nightshirt, his hair all in disarray from sleep, and the probable franticness of the last several minutes. His jaw was set, but his eyes were soft, they always were for Desmond. He looked at his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aside from the sweat leaving it slightly sheened, it was fine, just the same as it was when Desmond had seen it by candlelight, after crawling out of the Tiber. He marveled at it a little, astounded by the simple reality that he was alright. He looked up at Ezio again. “I don’t know what happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve seen men and women who have seen battle, the atrocities of mankind, forgetting their past injuries were in the past. Forgetting they had lost a hand, lost a friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course, I have PTSS from dying. Fuck’s sake, Des.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how to make it go away,” Desmond said gently. It seemed like ages ago when he’d told Ezio he didn’t know what he was doing with his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I was a very young boy, Federico and I shared a room. Whenever the shadow of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Il Campanile</span>
  </em>
  <span> would fall over my window, I thought it was some creature coming to lay darkness on my family. I couldn’t fight it alone. Those night I couldn’t sleep, he let me up in his bed, and promised he had the watch against the night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond flushed a little with the realization of what Ezio planned. “Ezio, you don’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, well now I have to.” Ezio straightened, his knees protesting. “Can you walk, </span>
  <em>
    <span>cucciolo,</span>
  </em>
  <span> or do I need to carry you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can walk.” Desmond followed Ezio back to his room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were no candles lit here. Had Ezio been working at his desk all night when he’d heard Desmond’s cries of pain? Ezio took a candle in from the outside, blowing out the others. Desmond followed him through the dark, feeling more and more like a scared child than he had in a very long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been known to cling quite a bit to whoever’s in my bed,” Ezio warned him with a smirk as he turned down the bed. Desmond just ducked his head and crawled in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air was charged with...something. Desmond wasn’t sure what, and hadn’t much knowledge of </span>
  <em>
    <span>bedroom activities,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but with Ezio, he felt safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>True to his word, Ezio blew the candle out and rolled over to pull Desmond in close for a snuggle. Desmond let out a huff of a laugh. “Saves time for when I do it later,” Ezio grumbled into the back of his neck. “I’ll wake you up if you need saving again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That same ball of emotion which had choked him in the bath before rose up once again. Desmond just nodded, and settled a hand atop Ezio’s forearm in thanks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nightmares did not return that night.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So I did more horrible research and while the crew was in Monteriggioni <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=juqyzgnbspY">this was the #1 song in Italy at the time</a> enjoy</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. la luce che hai incontrato per strada</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I have business at the Rosa in Fiore today. Would you like to accompany me?” Ezio said one morning, before they even began running through the city on their usual route. The Master Assassin looked a bit...put out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s up?” Desmond asked. Ezio blew out a breath and rolled his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It seems I don’t visit my mother as well as she would like, and I am bidden to her breakfast table.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond grinned. “Better not face the wrath of Maria Auditore, then. As much as I’d like to bear witness to that, I’ll spare you an audience.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezio’s face grew a little concerned, though. “Would you be alright on your own, then? I should only be gone several hours.” It was a rest day for the other recruits in training, so Desmond wouldn’t have his usual buffer (Ezio) between himself and any difficult questions. They’d been sharing Ezio’s bed and enjoying the lack of nightmares with it for a week now. Desmond had danced around the intimacy with shyness and blushing skin. Ezio was nearly crawling out of his own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I should be alright. I was thinking of seeing Leonardo, if that’s alright.” Desmond kept his eyes on the ground, scuffing the edge of his boot shyly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why shouldn’t it be? He is your friend as well.” Ezio was pulling his gloves on, but was watching Desmond curiously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kind of hard to believe, but I’ll accept it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They walked to the stables together after breakfast. Ezio was to drop him off at the workshop and continue on to the Rosa in Fiore, picking him up later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I may ask,” Ezio said, once they were on their way. “You get more flustered than normal whenever we talk to him or of him. Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hands tightened around his waist. If it weren’t for the armor, Ezio was sure he would have felt the butterflies in Desmond’s stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just...oh don’t tell him this, please. He’s kind of the biggest deal </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> where I’m from. He hasn’t painted his most famous work yet, but pretty much everyone in the world knows who he is. Not just for art, but his inventions, his studies of anatomy, in some cases his music. He’s enshrined in history as this immaculate pinnacle of this time period. There’s whole book series out there riffing off about the mystery, the success, his genius, and—” Desmond cut himself off when he saw Ezio grinning toothily at him. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>idolize</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, I see. Definitely best not to let him know, then.” He was almost leering. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh be quiet!” Desmond said, reaching out and goosing Ezio’s sides. To his utter bewilderment, Ezio let out a sharp noise he tried to cover up with a cough. Desmond gave an astonished laugh. “Oh, you are ticklish.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ezio said strongly, urging the horse into a gallop so he didn’t have to face the truth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re ticklish and I’m going to tell </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> about it,” Desmond teased.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You will </span>
  <em>
    <span>not,</span>
  </em>
  <span> because I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> tickl—!!” He made the same squawk noise again, and Desmond threw his head back and laughed. “Don’t tell anyone,” Ezio pleaded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What will you do to buy my silence?” Desmond said, hooking his chin over Ezio’s pauldron.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can think of a few things,” Ezio said, innuendo clear in his voice, but Desmond just rolled his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Horndog.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m taking that as a compliment and you can’t stop me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re on the same horse. I’m pretty sure I could stop you fairly easily—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Cucciolo</span>
  </em>
  <span> has teeth, I see.” Ezio nears the workshop and helps Desmond off. He’d visit for a little bit, since the Rosa in Fiore wasn’t too far away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leonardo was happy to have company, insisting on showing off the things he’s created. “I’ve found several offers for patronages, but they’re all outside of Italy. I don’t think I’m even ready to leave Rome yet,” he admitted, clasping his hands and looking around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ll tire of us yet, my friend,” Ezio said with a wry smile, knowing he wouldn’t. “I have to remind my family what my face looks like. Desmond said he wants to hear about your inventions, however. Would you mind entertaining him?” Desmond balked at Ezio, then glared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I would be delighted!” Leonardo exclaimed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Just tickled,” Desmond said, with a look that said Ezio would be paying for that later. The assassin just waved, took the horse, and rode off.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Punctuality was a virtue Maria Auditore valued above most others. For the first seven years of her marriage to Giovanni, she held it over his head that he had been three minutes late to his own wedding. Of course, targets didn’t often kill themselves, so they needed some helping along, but Maria would not hear it, assassin secrets or otherwise: her betrothed was late to his transformation into her husband, like a weak-willed butterfly. She is where Ezio and Federico got their fleetness of foot, dashing messages around the city just to see her smile at the quick return. And she always kicked out customers who overstayed their welcome at the Rosa in Fiore with little more than a glare needed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which was why Ezio was half an hour early to her proposed breakfast time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He made sure his horse was tied up, even patted it down a bit. The horse looked at him with as incredulous an expression a horse could make. “I know, I don’t usually do this, eh?” Ezio said. “And now I’m talking to a horse. What the hell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He walked inside, the candles mostly guttered from the evening prior. The sleepy courtesan at the desk waved him to the back, where a more </span>
  <em>
    <span>al fresco</span>
  </em>
  <span> setup held place settings for the family. Claudia came in ten minutes before Maria, as punctual as her siblings. This, at least, was a lasting trait from the Mozzi family. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maria swept in with all the grandeur Ezio expected, but still cherished. They’d lost so much of one another over the years, and seeing her happy made him happy. The trio exchanged greetings, and ate in silence for awhile. “How is Desmond?” Claudia asked. Only a sibling could catch the knife she had in her tone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s doing well. He may need guild training soon if he keeps up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Keeps up with you?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>You are a formidable one, sister.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“With his own progress,” he corrected. “And how fares the bordello? I see the candles budget isn’t wanting for much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Claudia gave him an unimpressed look. “Unlike you, we have to create atmosphere. You light things on fire to burn them down as well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Watchtowers, not candles.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Could we not fight over breakfast? This breeze is enjoyable, and best enjoyed without bickering words upon it,” Maria said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The siblings called a temporary truce, moving to other topics they could all agree on. A surprising one, Ezio found, was Desmond, despite the earlier foray into the forbidden bickering.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Has he been adjusting well, to well...everything?” Maria asked, with a mother’s concern.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He has been suffering from nightmares, and old injuries have been giving him phantom pains during them,” Ezio shared darkly. “The last moments of his previous life were not pleasant, and haunt him. I’m not sure what to do. It’s not an injury we can apply lead to until it is hidden away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Claudia frowned. “We often get soldiers in here, all kinds of men, really, who are moved to tears by simple affection. I’m not implying it was your fault, brother, but perhaps there is a link to the cause you may have overlooked?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Again, with the sharpened words?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, well.” Ezio </span>
  <em>
    <span>blushed,</span>
  </em>
  <span> making his mother and sister lean forward in concern. Ezio Auditore, tomcat king of Italy, blushing at something intimate? “We haven’t. Well. Are you sure there’s a breeze, mother? It’s fairly hot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You haven’t bedded the man already? With how you two moon over one another, I’m surprised at your restraint,” his own mother said in astonishment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you feeling quite ill?” Claudia asked, reaching to check for fever. He pushed her hand off with a scowl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine. It’s just. I don’t think he is ready for that kind of thing. With whatever is plaguing his mind, it must either have some effect on his body, or I’m finally past the point of talking my way into someone’s bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, with what the girls have to say…” Claudia didn’t finish her quip, instead giving her mother a beatific smile and sipping at her coffee. Maria rolled her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You two are unbelievable. Ezio, have you tried using your mouth instead of what’s between your legs?” Ezio somehow blushed deeper, sure she was implying… “Not. Oh good lord.” She rolled her eyes. “Use. Your. Words. Ezio. Auditore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Claudia was choking on air, almost crying at the exchange. It was never a dull moment, in their family. Even halved in numbers as they are, Ezio brought back so much trouble it may as well have been a full house.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just make sure you’re not going to run him out of Roma, brother. I enjoy his company, I’d hate for you to ruin it for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Run him out—Claudia!” he exclaimed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, what exactly are your intentions with him, my son?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezio groaned, and like a child, put his head on the table, pouting.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>“There is another thing I wish to speak with you about, Ezio,” Maria said, after their breakfast had been cleared away. “There is a man who is stalking many of our girls at the building we have in the Campagna.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stalking?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“On some occasions, he’s left marks,” Claudia added, with a frown of concern. “It seems he’s not very interested in paying for our services. We’ve given him a warning, and banned him from the building, but it has not stopped him from following the girls who do not live there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll go send a message.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where’s Desmond today?” Claudia asked as Ezio saddled up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s with Leonardo. It’s a rest day for the recruits.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Take me there before you go to Campagna.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything you say.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Claudia was less of an interesting passenger to have on the horse with him than Desmond, but at least she didn’t try to tickle him into leading the horse off a cliff. The trip was short, and Claudia waved goodbye as Ezio went off to do his duty for the courtesans.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>“Claudia! How nice to see you!” Leonardo said when she walked into the workshop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was in the area,” she said with a smile. “And a little bird told me I’d find my future-man here as well.” Desmond waved to her with a smile, currently buried under half a dozen sketchbooks he had been looking over with shaky hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it a day off for you as well?” Desmond asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My days off are the daylight hours, </span>
  <em>
    <span>carino.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I seem to be the only one not in repose, I may as well join you,” Leonardo said, gathering some wine and cheese from a pantry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s eleven in the morning,” Desmond pointed out. “On a Wednesday.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are there rules against drinking with friends at eleven in the morning on Wednesdays in the future?” Claudia asked, accepting a glass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it’s just...oh fuck it. I don’t know shit about shit in this time. When in Roma.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When in Roma!” the others cheered, before beginning to drink.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond didn’t like to get drunk often. There were always too many things he could say on accident to the wrong people, too many stupid mistakes. The motorcycle was a mistake, he knew now. That one was made through a bit of post-shift googling on the computer in the back of Bad Weather. He always had to watch his back, looking for anyone that caught his (rather rudimentary) form of Eagle Vision as “sketch”.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took three glasses of wine for Desmond to tell Claudia and Leonardo what “sketch” meant. By the fourth, Leonardo had him drawing for him, and by the fifth, Claudia had him playing at Leonardo’s viola, which was so like a guitar he nearly wept. Luckily, they were all in their cups well enough that they probably wouldn’t have any idea he was singing a Taylor Swift song, let alone remember enough to ask him about it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” Claudia said, loosening her bodice a little and flopping on the couch. She made herself at home anywhere, Desmond noticed, most likely because her home was nowhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” Desmond echoed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” Leonardo said. “Ezio.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ezio,” Claudia nodded, like that meant anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ezio,” Desmond groaned, putting his head in his hands. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So that’s why they got me drunk. Oh well, it’s not like they’ll gut me. They seem to actually like me well enough to be nice about it, even then.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A question I asked constantly when we were both teenagers,” Claudia reminisced. “Why haven’t you fucked?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leonardo gasped, and made for another bottle of wine. “You haven’t?” he said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did—what? Who? What kind of things do you talk about at breakfast?” Desmond made a squinty little face, while the room righted itself and stopped spinning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why hasn’t he tried?” Leonardo asked, hilariously concerned. “Did he do something to dash his favor with you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No! He’s been really nice! Lets me sleep in his bed, I have night terrors.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well at least he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>in </span>
  </em>
  <span>the bed,” Leonardo muttered. “Desmond, he looks at you like you hung the very moon and stars in the sky. Like you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> the moon and stars in the sky. If I’m honest, you look at him like he’s the sun incarnate.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps not the best metaphor to use for the guy who died protecting the world from the sun.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I never once thought he’d be…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, exclusive to women’s beds?” Claudia said. “That man takes pleasure where he can get it. And I’d be a hypocrite if I said I judged him for it. He has certainly dealt with far too much in his life to let the church tell him where he can find his happiness.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh.” Desmond said, a little dumbfounded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that the problem? Are you just not inclined in the same way?” Leonardo asked, fidgeting a little bit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No! I’m. Wait. No. I. Fuck you both for getting me drunk. I. Shit don’t look at me like that. I’m. You don’t have the words I have for this yet.” He pressed his hands to his face, groaning. “I haven’t exactly...tested those waters just yet. It was a bit of a vulnerability I couldn’t afford myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leonardo and Claudia seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, though they were still concerned. “And were Ezio to proposition you, no frills and lace attached?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d say yes before he even finished asking,” Desmond said, a little loud. “But.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But?” Claudia and Leonardo asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He wouldn’t want anything to do with me. He’s...okay this is weird to talk about but here goes. Ezio likes an experienced lover, someone who knows what they want, and is confident. I am not that, I do not know what I want, and I—” he sputtered a little, running out of words. “I haven’t even been kissed!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Several really great bottles of wine later, they got the whole story out of him. He was looking over his shoulder too often to get emotionally close to anyone, even superficially, when he was clubbing in New York. Even messy little affairs with his coworkers were off-limits, like the getting drunk around other people thing. So, rather than let his bleeding heart (or his dick) take the reins, he became a shadow. Shadows didn’t want, they didn’t desire, and they sure as hell didn’t act on either of those things. When he’d met Lucy, he thought, maybe. But that had been a whole-ass clusterfuck. Shaun had even offered, once, as a means of “letting off steam,” but at that point, he was still recovering from muscle atrophy and the whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>coma</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing, so he’d passed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leonardo and Claudia were watching him ramble with a mix of horror and concern.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh and not to mention my dad was there the whole time, and that place echoed like a motherfucker.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Two things that would definitely kill a mood.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you know now. Never been kissed, never fucked a thing besides my hand, zero experience with relationships outside the ones I’ve had living other people’s memories. That’s not exactly a good starting point for a relationship.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re disqualifying yourself. You like him, he likes you, there’s no huge war going on that would distract you both from having fun. You both deserve to at least get the chance to try.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond nodded, deep in thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then he threw up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, we should get him back to the hideout,” Leonardo sighed. “Call in the watch?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Claudia whistled out the door, bringing the roof patrol down to them. Two blue-hooded assassins dropped down. “Ah, the twins. Nice to see you. Desmond needs help home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is he alright?” one of the twins, Vittoria, asked. Her brother, Vito, looked through the open door of the workshop, where Leonardo was getting Desmond up on his feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s just had a bit much to drink. He’ll have to walk, no horses,” Leonardo instructed. “Signora, I can walk you back to the Rosa in Fiore, if you’d like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Leave a note for Ezio, first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the assassins half-carried Desmond down the street, he started to sing in a language even they couldn’t understand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Someday, I’ll be, livin’ in a big old city, and all you’re ever gonna be is mean…”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Le gemelle</span>
  </em>
  <span> put up with it all the way there, hearing him cycle through songs about never ever getting back together, about a song Desmond apparently shared with someone else, and inexplicably, a man named Tim McGraw. They managed to keep him out of the busy streets, but adherence to the second tenet of the Creed was rather difficult when toting around a strange, drunk man from the futures. The twins shared a look when Desmond started singing about being twenty-two.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought he was twenty-five.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think it’s a metaphor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They heard a horse riding up quickly, and Vittoria drew her sword in surprise. “Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mentore,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she said when she recognized the man in the saddle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Buonasera.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Buonasera,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ezio said with a curious smile towards Desmond, listing side to side on Vito’s shoulder and singing into the air. “I take it things at Leonardo’s were a little fun?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think he’s used to Roman wine,” Vito grunted, readjusting his grip on the slippery man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ezzy-o, we gotta dance. Gotta dance now.” Desmond moved in a way that looked like no dance any of them had ever seen, but it was incredibly uncoordinated, no matter what it was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think we should go find you a bed, </span>
  <em>
    <span>cucciolo.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ezio handed the reins of his horse to Vittoria. “Take him back to the stables just north of the island. He should be all paid up. Thank you for taking care of him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, Master.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond faceplanted into Ezio’s neck, giggling and hanging on. “You smell nice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Funny, my sister seemed to think the opposite. Let’s go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You saw Claudia?” Desmond asked, remembering something with a cute little frown.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, we crossed paths while I was headed back to the workshop. She told me some very interesting things I’d like to ask you about later.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh noooo…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond passed out in Ezio’s arms, making the rest of the trip back to the hideout that much easier. Ezio didn’t mind one bit.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Swiftie Desmond Miles is a headcanon I will not let go of.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. perché sei stata ľestate migliore della mia vita, è la verità</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>For all Desmond knew of “we need to talk” talks, they typically didn’t end well. It was probably why he wanted to burst into tears the moment he remembered what Ezio had said, just before he’d passed out. When he woke, however, he was still drunk, just a little woozy, and sitting in a familiar room. They were in Ezio’s apartment, and the Master Assassin had taken off his armor and equipment before settling onto the couch, holding Desmond in his lap, curled around him comfortably. Desmond shifted a little, pouting around until his eyes adjusted to the light.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello,” Ezio said, amused. “How are you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still drunk. Sh’drink water.” Desmond looked around, but couldn’t find what his mind’s eye was looking for: small unlabeled bottles of water, which they kept under the bar just in case. With it being 1507, of course, he could not find anything of the sort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can get you water in a bit. Let me hold you.” Ezio adjusted his grip on Desmond, and nuzzled against his cheek. Desmond let out a soft noise, and leaned into his touches, his affection, like he always did. It was like he was starving for touch, and hadn’t known what hunger felt like until now. “I won’t ask you anything while you’re like this. Don’t worry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do I do, then?” Desmond asked, blinking slowly up at Ezio.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can just relax. Fall asleep, if you wish. Anything you’d like.” Ezio ran a hand through Desmond’s hair, which was getting a bit long. The coarse texture had formed into a very cute curl, and Ezio loved to run his fingers through it whenever he could. Like this, he could cup the back of Desmond’s neck and just let his fingers scratch along his scalp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hope they didn’t tell you nothin’ too bad,” Desmond sighed, helpless to the feeling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think they led with ‘you know how to pick ‘em, Ezio’ and then it was a bit of shouting after that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They yell at you a lot. Don’t like it.” Desmond pouted, more of his weight melting against Ezio.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s how they love me. And it’s not always shouting, I promise. Did your friends never shout in affection?” Later, Desmond would notice the careful way he didn’t compare his own family to Desmond’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was a popular bar. Everyone shouted.” Ezio didn’t quite understand, but he supposed he was better off that way. What he did understand, though, was Desmond. He hadn’t grown up the same as the hardy, scrappy Romans that Ezio had recruited, or the nobility that Ezio and Claudia had grown up with, or the artists and thinkers Leonardo had spent his youth around. He grew up in an environment that was too hard-earthed, too frozen-over, to grow roots in, and flourish from. Desmond still gave glances over his shoulder now and then, he still made sure to cover his tracks and take meandering routes to shake off tails, he still looked at his own bed, his own room, like he could hardly believe it to be his.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezio’s own life had been hard, in its own way. Losing irreplaceable things and taking revenge for them, over and over for thirty years. He was no longer a man that could smile and joke easily, could not trust even those under his family’s employ. The siege on the villa made that abundantly clear. He, too, had nightmares and lingering waves of darkness that weighed him down on certain days. Would this old husk of a man he met in the mirror each day be enough, be worthy of Desmond?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond found joy and wonder in seemingly everything around him. So sheltered a life he’d had, it wasn’t much of a surprise Claudia and Leonardo had informed him of his virginal state. Ezio was at the prime of his tomcatting at Desmond’s age. What did Desmond think of that? He had to know about the endless flirting and the fooling around. If he had an opinion to voice, he hadn’t. Perhaps he wanted to let him down easily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s been said, but miscommunication was a bitch, no matter the century.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To have never been kissed, though? Ezio looked down, and was surprised to find the younger man asleep once more, the frown erased from his face, now deep in his dreams. Desmond’s lips were shaped similarly to his own, down to the scar. How funny would it have been, if it were on the other side? They could have been looking in a warped mirror at one another. Ezio regarded him fondly, with a sad smile. He pushed his fingers delicately through Desmond’s hair again, and pulled him close.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The kiss he lay on his forehead was chaste and sweet, and full of promises Ezio intended to keep. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I promise not to harm you, I promise to make you smile. I promise to smile for you in return, I promise, I promise, I promise…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Desmond woke alone in bed, in Ezio’s bed. The sheets were cold where Ezio normally slept. Desmond found himself feeling better than he probably deserved, not even a throbbing headache. There was a bit of dizziness as he stood, and walked to the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezio was working at his desk, papers spread before him and a map precariously held to the surface by a large carved stone in the shape of a monkey. Desmond approached slowly, the embarrassment from last night somewhat gone. It’d return in full at some point later, he was sure, but for now, he enjoyed the look of concentration on Ezio’s face. “Paperwork day?” Desmond asked. God, his voice was rough. Was he shouting last night?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Usually Niccolo balances the books for us, but as you know, he’s trapped between the pages of his own book, so the work falls to me,” Ezio sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe you need reading glasses.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That requires a bit of work to get the right kind,” Ezio said, looking up. “Would they make the numbers add themselves up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond chuckled and came over, looking at the ledger. “Not particularly, but I think they’d at least sort themselves out in your head better than just glaring at them all day.” They were stood quite close, Desmond noticed, but their proximity had never bothered him. Especially recently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time, though, Ezio got up from his seat, as if to stretch, but he did so several steps away from the desk, and therefore Desmond. It wasn’t enough to raise a concern about, but it was definitely out of character for Ezio.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think you can go with the group to the thieves today?” Ezio asked, not looking him in the eye. “I’m sure Volpe will be glad to see you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond didn’t know why that hurt, but it did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll go with them,” he said slowly. “I’ll...yeah.” He quickly went and got dressed, the embarrassment he’d been pushing back now kicking in the door. Was Ezio being weird because of what Claudia and Leonardo said? Oh, fuck. What </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> they say? He hardly said another word through the morning meal and the first drills they completed of the day, led by one of the more veteran recruits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Desmond,” one of the red-robed novices said in surprise, as he followed them through the tunnels to La Volpe Addormentata. “You’re coming with us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess I am.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>La Volpe was indeed excited to see him again, after his few weeks of recovery under Ezio’s care. Desmond forced a happy face, eager to get some new training he hadn’t quite gotten while in the Animus. He knew the basics of free-running around the city, but there was a difference between his hands and those of the thieves, worn rough by grasped stone and beams. He noticed some of the other recruits having trouble just running in their robes, and thought back to the more casual style the modern-day Assassins used to wear. Would wear. Fuck, it was weird to think about the past. Future. Best not to think about it at all, really.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have gotten a lesson from the Master himself on how best to traverse </span>
  <em>
    <span>Roma.</span>
  </em>
  <span> How about a few more subtle things?” La Volpe suggested.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m ready.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anything to get my mind off of Ezio’s weirdness.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They set up a little thievery course around the village the guild sat in. Ten treasure boxes, steal ten trinkets, without being seen. Desmond was grateful for the boots Ezio had bought him—they were soft-soled, good for climbing and sneaking around silently. He managed to out-think the first few treasures, but at the sixth, he frowned. La Volpe himself was sitting on top of it. He wouldn’t move for anything, it was his challenge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond hummed. He could feel La Volpe’s amused gaze on him as he backed away, silently milling into the pre</span>
  <em>
    <span>-siesta</span>
  </em>
  <span> crowd. He turned back and caught a glance at the thief master, and moved to the other locations on his list, pilfering the trinkets, all of them turning out to be small glass fox heads. He couldn’t make up his mind on how to get the trinket out from under La Volpe, and the man was stubborn enough to keep the trinket on himself if he was distracted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Also, thinking </span>
  <em>
    <span>what would Ezio do</span>
  </em>
  <span> was a rather painful line of thinking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Desmond created a bigger problem, because oftentimes it was easier to get out of problems he created himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which was a long way of saying Desmond lit a small fire near the small cave La Volpe was sitting in. It wasn’t so far away that he’d be left alone with a fire, but it also wasn’t so close that La Volpe would have known it was a trick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thing about lighting small fires in a drought-stricken Roman countryside, though, is that they rarely stayed small for long. He was swearing and running around, the treasure hunt seemingly all forgotten. The one bit of training he remembered, from his first day on the job at the first bar he ever worked at, at seventeen, popped into his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>If you fuck up, don’t be the lowest one on the totem pole who knows.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit, fuck, fucking oh god, why. Jesus,” he cursed as he ran back to the guild. There was a thief he knew as one of La Volpe’s lieutenants from Ezio’s memories, and he windmilled his arms as he skidded to a stop. “There’s. There’s a fire. Happening.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thief sprang into action, ordering three others to start filling water from the well. Desmond saw the chaos unfold quickly, most members of the village going in to work on putting out the flames. The racket was concerning enough, and the smell of smoke potent enough, that La Volpe came out of hiding. A quick glance under his hood at the treasure chest revealed that La Volpe did what Desmond expected, putting the trinket somewhere on his person. Desmond purposely ‘didn’t look where he was going’ and ran into the man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit, fucking. Oh fuck. I’m so sorry, I’m such an idiot,” Desmond groaned, pleading for forgiveness before helping with the effort. The two of them worked hard, and with that many hands, the fire was out quickly. Desmond had worked close enough to the flames that there were smoke-smudges all over his face, and his normally dove-gray robes were almost as black as that of the veteran assassin recruits. He sat just outside the small charred circle of what had been a rotting old cart full of dried grass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You didn’t take advantage of your distraction,” La Volpe said, coming up next to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who says I didn’t?” Desmond held up the amber-glass fox head with a tired smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had taken too much concentration, and he’d almost failed. He’d had to pick up a burning piece of firewood with his bare hand to distract from the sleight of hand, reaching into La Volpe’s cloak as he shouted in pain. Palming the fox head back into his own pockets, gently clinking against the rest, had been almost as difficult, with all the attention on his red palms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>La Volpe checked his pockets, and gave him a clever smile when he discovered the trinket missing. “Well, let’s see the rest.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond counted them all out, in two rows of five. “There you go. And I was unseen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, they told me you told them you had gotten it. How nice of you.” La Volpe shook his head, still smiling. “You’re too charming for your own good, but good work. You should go train with the courtesans next, come back when that hand heals and we’ll do some climbing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Grazie.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Di nulla.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The other recruits had tried to squeeze the story out of Desmond on the walk back to the hideout, most of them covered in hay from practicing Leaps of Faith all day, the others with wrapped hands and wrists, sore from climb conditioning. Desmond was the only one who looked like the inside of a chimney, which made the others in the hideout laugh at the sight of him when they clambered through the tunnel entrance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezio was nowhere to be seen. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well. Guess he’ll have to hear it from La Volpe.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t pouting. He wasn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>(He absolutely was.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He bathed in the communal baths with the others, not wanting to fuck up Ezio’s nice tub with his grime and smoke. He sighed as he washed, not getting that same sense of release and relief that came from Ezio’s hands pushing the knots in his back away. He was grateful for the tiredness that came from an exciting and fulfilling day, for it left his mind blissfully blank of any of his worries he’d woken with. He slunk around the hideout, happily sore from his exercise. He ate, he talked, he laughed, he almost forgot why he was sad in the first place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then Ezio came down. He was lounging in the armory with the other novice recruits, the group who had gone to the courtesans that day. Ezio stood in the doorway, and one of the others stood, bowing with their fist over their heart. The others followed suit, and Desmond rose with them in a panic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezio met his eyes, and held them as Desmond did the same bow. Something flashed in them, but whether good or bad, Desmond couldn’t tell. “May I speak with you, Desmond?” he asked, polite and impersonal. It sent some kind of uneasiness through Desmond’s body, and he nodded, walking to him like he was in a dream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They went to the top of the hideout, Ezio in his full robes, Desmond in his casual doublet and breeches, though the sleeves on his shirt concealed his hidden blades. Staying on the island, technically still in the hideout, was probably why Ezio didn’t have a tail, something Desmond was better at identifying, now that he’d had it pointed out to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They walked to the edge, and sat on the small barrier wall, not facing one another, and watching the sun set. “La Volpe sent word that your training took a rather unorthodox turn today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, shit. Well. Yeah, I’m not the best at keeping a low profile.” Desmond rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling it prickle in mortification. “I really didn’t mean to almost burn down Rome.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You certainly knew it wouldn’t have gotten out of hand, not in that village. And it helped you achieve your goals. I’m impressed, really. I don’t think I would have taken the same risks you did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Damned by faint praise,” Desmond muttered in English, a wry smile twisting his lips. What had gone so wrong in the night, that Ezio turned from a close confidant and bedpartner (in the most chaste of meanings) to a strictly-mentor role? He thought, after talking with Leonardo and Claudia...</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have something for you.” Ezio pulled something out from under his cape, and presented Desmond with a slim parcel. It was obviously a weapon of some sort, by the long shape of it, and Desmond took care while unwrapping it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A cinquedea, gleaming in its newness. Desmond admired it in the dying light, the blade burning gold-red under the sunset. “This is lovely, Ezio,” he said, a choked quality to his voice. Emotion obviously was something Desmond had no short supply of, and he wasn’t sure if that was what Ezio had been shying away from. “I’ll use it well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t have to use it,” Ezio said quickly, a bit off-balance from Desmond’s reaction. It was obviously not the reaction he’d been expecting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh. So this was an apology knife.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond closed his eyes and bowed his head. “Ezio, you don’t have to buy me things just because you want to let me down easily. You don’t have to get me anything. I’ve gotten more than I deserve.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no,” Ezio insisted, stepping closer and putting his hand on Desmond’s arm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Cazzo,</span>
  </em>
  <span> what did I do?” he muttered. “I’m sorry, Desmond. I didn’t know what I was thinking, today. Sending you out, pushing you away, it’s. God, there’s probably some underlying reason to all of it, but—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Desmond watched him fumble for words in almost an amused horror. “Stop,” Desmond said, breathlessly. “You’re apologizing. I thought I had to apologize. I don’t know what they told you last night, but—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I didn’t even talk to you about that—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t mind you knowing, I’m just—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought you would be scared to be with—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe we should just stop talking for a moment.” Desmond put his hand on Ezio’s chest, stopping the panicked babbling. The phrase “runs in the family” started making its way through Desmond’s mind a moment before he lit that, too, on fire for the greater good. “So you were told...something by Claudia and Leonardo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What specifically did they tell you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That you were untouched snow, and I was tar, when it came to </span>
  <em>
    <span>la purezza.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Desmond groaned and hid his face. “And that you’d never been kissed, before. But you wanted to. And you wanted to, with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m surprised they remembered that much,” Desmond muttered into his palms, still smarting a little from the fire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When I took you home, I think my mind spun things away from my reach, like a kite on the wind. I thought you wouldn’t possibly want what was scarred and broken, in a man like me. I’m old, for fuck’s sake.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It made Desmond smile, to hear him saying phrases he picked up from Desmond. “Not that old.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Practically in my deathbed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you’ll have company, if I have anything to say about it.” Desmond blinked up at him. “You still don’t have to buy me things every time you’re sorry. An apology is enough.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezio let out a shuddered breath. “I haven’t felt this nervous since I was fifteen,” he admitted with a hysterical little laugh. He pushed a hand through his hair, pushing down his hood at the same time. “I don’t want you to think I’m...worried about your inexperience. If anything, I’m worried about myself for being so cavalier.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s certainly a word for it,” Desmond smiled a little wider. “If you want what I want, then…” he shrugged. “Why not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezio relaxed visibly, all the tension in his body sliding down the cracks in the stones beneath them. He looked over at Desmond, and it was with a clarity Desmond hadn’t seen since the previous day. They were back on level ground. “So if I can’t buy you things, what is it I can do?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kiss me?”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ok yall did I manifest this taylor swift album by posting Swiftie Desmond last night</p>
<p>anyway stream evermore at midnight EST</p>
<p>new chapter lyrics from <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/0XAO6HaZDHa2HxbnWWKWCZ?si=DRY6LIt1QrSLLndVbnXL3A">la storia infinitiva by pinguini tattici nuclear</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. potevo leggerti nelľanima</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>“Kiss me?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond couldn’t breathe, not while Ezio was looking at him with that slack-jawed expression. He knew it was a really, really cliche thing to say, but he could hardly beat himself up for it, with his heart hammering in his chest and his stomach doing Leaps of Faith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio moved first, slowly, like he was trying to move in the shadows, like he didn’t want to scare Desmond away. His hands came up, and moved his hood off his head, before he was scooting forward and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond’s mind had flatlined the second Ezio had cradled his head in his hands, and the whole world fell away when their lips finally, finally met. He was sure he let out a soft little noise, helpless to the feeling. The butterflies inside him shut his eyes, and his body swayed into it. It was over just as soon as Desmond’s mind had managed a </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and when Ezio pulled back, he felt drunk on </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio was watching him with a mix of wonder and joy, his eyes sparkling even as the sun slipped below the horizon and let dusk take over. Desmond couldn’t form words, but his lips </span>
  <em>
    <span>ached</span>
  </em>
  <span> with how much he wanted to do that again. Ezio smiled, and leaned forward again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They would share many kisses on rooftops, many of them also at sunset, but none of them would really measure up in their memories like this one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond found his hands were shaking, and his blood was singing at the sensation after long. His hands made gentle fists, clinging to Ezio’s robes. He ducked his head shyly, an indelible smile on his face as he fell into Ezio’s embrace. Ezio didn’t stop there, kissing the top of his head and wherever he could reach. “Now,” the Master Assassin said, in a voice too loud and rough for him to quite control, “I think we should get in a few more disagreements, if that’s how we’re to end them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond could only shake and laugh.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>What Desmond never quite had the opportunity to experience growing up was the strange awkward period after a first kiss with another. Eye contact became shy glances across a table, and complexions were blushes more often than not. It was all a bit ridiculous, to Desmond. He’d practically seen Ezio naked more times than such modesty would call for. There was a fairly large cloud of unspoken things they were not acknowledging, but for now, it didn’t rain on their happiness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like the feeling of their lips against each other had sucked all the words out of their bodies, all the air out of the room. Desmond’s mind went blissfully blank whenever Ezio would catch him by his sleeve, spinning him round on the staircase to steal another kiss. It was a moment of freefall, like his foot had taken an extra step where there was none. It was jumping off a crane in Manhattan and trying not to shout.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They weren’t hiding, necessarily. Certainly not at the hideout, around those they trusted. Not in the rooftop gardens Ezio loved pulling him into. There was always just this sense of secrecy, that Desmond felt. He still couldn’t believe he had Ezio, </span>
  <em>
    <span>could have</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ezio in all the ways he’d only ever dreamed of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And because Desmond was more than used to things getting out of hand, he wanted more. Ezio always kept his hands above Desmond’s waist, preferring to hold him by the back of his neck to keep him close, pull him in at the small of his back, reach one arm around his shoulders to reel him in. It was very restrained, if Desmond knew Ezio at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet they still hadn’t talked about the whole virgin elephant in the room. Desmond hoped he could just roll into it with Ezio having not talked about it, but it seemed the man was very intent on keeping things above-the-belt and chaste for the time being.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>About a week after their first kiss, Desmond rolled into bed with Ezio like he did every night, and Ezio gave him a goodnight kiss, holding him close. Even his damn hips were pressed away from his. Desmond made a small, frustrated noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you want to...I don’t know, fool around?” Desmond asked, unsure of what to even say now that he’d gotten himself into this mess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio shifted a little, and in the dark, Desmond couldn’t see his expression. “What kind of fooling around were you thinking?” Ezio said, a little strained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could fuck,” Desmond suggested plainly. Ezio coughed, obviously expecting something else entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want that? With me?” Ezio said, slightly disbelieving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I do. I mean. I’ve never. Um. I’d want to, ah. This isn’t going how I wanted it to.” Desmond sighed and rolled onto his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright, </span>
  <em>
    <span>caro.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I want that too.” There was a hint of hesitation to his words, though, something Desmond couldn’t quite decipher. If Ezio was honest, he wasn’t sure why he was hesitating either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” Desmond whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t. I’m an assassin like you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s...this is different. I’ve never had something as perfect and...Desmond,” Ezio crawled slightly on top of him, so they were speaking to each other, even if they couldn’t see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” Desmond asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio heard the earnestness in his voice, the worship behind his words, the devotion, the love. His decision made itself known in that moment. “When we have our first time together, you won’t be leaving my bed for a very long while. Give me some time to make things right? I’ve rushed into too many important things for this to be another one of the things I let slip away out of carelessness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond was slightly taken aback at the force behind his words, that solemn vow-like quality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also I need to buy some things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Ezio, I told you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not...that kind of gift.” Ezio nuzzled against his cheek, and between the low purr of his voice to the heat of his body, Desmond </span>
  <em>
    <span>got it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yes.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio kissed down his cheek to his jaw, leaving little bursts of heat against his skin like a phoenix’ flight path. Desmond made a soft keening noise in the back of his throat and shuddered. Ezio pressed more of his weight against his body. He’d been sparring with them again, and Desmond knew exactly how much power rested within that considerable bulk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was jelly-limbed beneath Ezio, his hands flopping to grasp at incredibly defined shoulders and pushing in desperation against the soft linen that covered them, like the weave would give way simply because Desmond’s desire willed it. Ezio’s lips burned brands of kisses and seared sensations into his skin, and he was helpless beneath it. His body responded in pure reflex, rolling against Ezio’s and spreading his legs wider, urging him closer, deeper. Ezio fit against him like a long-lost key to a place he didn’t even know was locked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to make me rush things,” Ezio chuckled against his collarbone, where he’d been sucking a cherry-red mark into Desmond’s flesh. “We should stop while we’re ahead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Desmond whined, plaintive and needy. He wished he could see the expression on Ezio’s face, gaze upon the temptation he was battling and the dark desire in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because,” Ezio said, pressing a hot kiss into his shoulder. “I intend to take you apart, and I plan to have you spread out on my bed, and when you are shaking and begging past the point of your self-control, that is what I want you to remember of the first time. Not a clumsy fuck in the dark.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“F-fuck,” Desmond stuttered, his body arching up off the bed to press against Ezio, whose arms filled the gap under Desmond’s spine like they were always meant to be there. Ezio’s nose pressed against Desmond’s middle, following the line between his abs. Luckily, he was a patient assassin, if not a patient man. They both calmed down from their states, and curled back together how they started the night. “Will you tell me?” Desmond asked, sleep starting to sink in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” Ezio murmured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you tell me when?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll know when.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Suppose I can learn to love surprises, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Learn to love sleep, </span>
  <em>
    <span>cucciolo.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah.”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Desmond’s training picked up hard after that, which pushed all thoughts of getting dicked down by the deadliest man in Italy to the back burner for a while. His progress with the thieves and courtesans was excellent, which had him wary of the mercenaries. Ezio’s paperwork backlog could no longer afford Desmond’s distractions from it, and Machiavelli still hadn’t finished his cloistered writing yet. In addition to other duties that came with being Mentor, he took time including himself on patrols.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was on one of these patrols when Ezio heard about the incident at the barracks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bartolomeo d’Alviano had been considering a plan of attack regarding Desmond since that dinner at the Rosa in Fiore. He had expected the boy to have not changed entirely so from when he’d seen him and when he’d walk into the barracks from the tunnel entrance, but he was surprised at the way he filled out the gray robes, the easy grace he walked with, the horrifically flashy cinquedea on his hip. He had strength in his hands when they’d shaken in greeting, and a considering look to him that he’d lacked previously. This was a man who had recovered enough from an injury to see the environment for its obstacles. Bartolomeo had to change tactics quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d wondered why La Volpe had laughed at his extensive detail. Desmond seemed to push best-laid plans off a cliff by accident.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Horse riding,” Bartolomeo decided, and was rather amused at the boy’s rather constipated expression. “You are not trained in horse riding?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not exactly, no.” Desmond had grown up around animals on the Farm, but horses were not among the livestock they kept there. There were other beasts of burden they raised. “I’ve been on a horse before. Twice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Twice,” Bartolomeo parroted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I wasn’t at the wheel, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The wheel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The reins. Sorry, shit. Getting used to colloquialisms.” Bartolomeo brought over a rather tame mare for him at the stables in the corner of the barracks while the others, already used to his training schedule, were getting outfitted in sparring gear with the other mercenaries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Rosalina,” Bartolomeo said. Desmond stood several paces back, like the lazy horse would bite him or stomp him to death if he breathed wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello. Uh. Nice to meet you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was going to be a long day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond was able to get a saddle onto Rosalina, and secure it with little instruction, despite his beginner status. He moved like a man who had been riding horses for years, and even checked things in the same order that Ezio did. Hard-headed as he was, Bartolomeo was observant as well. It did well for Assassins to notice things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, get up there. Don’t hesitate. Horses can sense fear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond managed to clamber up, after putting the wrong foot in the stirrup the first time. Bartolomeo snapped at the rubber-necked mercenaries watching the proceedings to get back to work. Desmond muttered about not being nervous, just like a hog, and Bartolomeo wondered why they rode pigs in the future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was an absolute mess of a time, honestly. Desmond didn’t know half the commands for moving around, and it took him time to get his body familiar with riding. It’d be a waste of the day to keep him fumbling on the horse, however, so Bartolomeo had him get off Rosalina and decided he’d try again tomorrow until </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> was familiar with it, not reliant on Ezio’s tutelage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s see how you fight,” Bartolomeo said. He’d been looking forward to this for a long time. The man was obviously very sharp, and had a great deal of training under his skin, but he wanted to see it in action. “Hand to hand first, then armed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond followed suit of the other recruits in training, and shucked his robes, armor, and weapons, standing in his boots, breeches, and a shirt. Bartolomeo could see Ezio’s personal style in the cut of his clothes. Silly man. “Well go on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So it was to be a brawl. Desmond steeled himself, before shaking out his arms and rolling his neck. He assumed a typical brawling stance, rolling up onto the balls of his feet, waiting for his opponent to approach. He still looked rather scrawny and swamped in the shirt, which made Matteo, his opponent, underestimate him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was over in a blur of hands, knees, and a mind-boggling bend at the hips, Desmond’s shoulder slamming into Matteo’s gut and launching him backwards. Desmond had hardly moved, but the mercenary flew behind him, like how bakers would fling huge sacks of flour and sugar across a pantry, how soldiers would bear bags of sand against a barrier. Desmond helped Matteo back up to his feet, which baffled half of the room. “Again?” Desmond asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re showing me how to do that later,” Matteo laughed, and swung.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond dropped into a crouch, dodging the swing and looping his arm around the arm, which had arced wide and out of control. The smaller man shifted his feet and danced behind Matteo, holding his arm captive and putting a flat palm against Matteo’s shoulder. The mercenary cried out in surprise, effectively pinned against nothing. He tapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was mesmerising to watch, Desmond’s cool expression as he took down men twice his size, with little more than a huff of breath. He was incredibly efficient in his movements, and rarely gave more than a jab or a controlled sweep of his leg. Bartolomeo knew he couldn’t teach the man anything new, but practice was still important. He let Desmond humiliate his mercenaries awhile longer before declaring he wanted to see how Desmond would do against armed men.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He put back on some of his armor, and his bracers, though he left his hidden blade on the bench. “Alright,” he said, cool as ever but wary now that there was live steel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three objectives here: deflect, disarm, and dodge. I’ll keep time. If you can last on your feet for more than a minute, I’ll be impressed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first few rounds got him in the rhythm of it, and left him with a few cuts and bruises, until Bartolomeo upped the stakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond eyed them up. Two with broadswords, one with a shortsword. He swallowed as the shouts drowned out his own thoughts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s fine, stay calm. Let your instincts take over, it’s all muscle memory at this point, you’ll be fine, you won’t die.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just like the virtual trainings.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>This was not like the virtual trainings. They did not come at him one at a time, they did not give him time to counter, and they had just been somewhat humiliated by him moments prior. Desmond was fucked. It was all he could do to stay upright, dodging the overhead swings and jabs with a panicked fervor. His mind was having a hard time informing him that this was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> like the Animus, if he was hurt in combat here he would </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> be hurt, and there would be consequences here. He kept himself humble, and tamped down the cockiness his ancestors all fought with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His foot connected with the ankle of one of the broadswordsmen, and he followed through after a half-breath, sweeping him to his back on the dust of the training ring. It was enough of a distraction that one of the others managed to get a hit in on him, making his arm go numb from taking the force of the blow. Luckily, it was just the flat of the blade slapping against his bracer, but it was close enough to make his blood run cold, and adrenaline-hot all at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He forced himself close, too close for the other broadsword to make any damage, and used the mercenary’s bent legs as a step up, climbing the man and clambering to his shoulders, leaning back to force him to fall. The wind was knocked out of him, and Desmond’s teeth rattled at the impact, but he was still alive. He got to his feet, facing the last swordsman while the other two rolled out of the way. This man had been holding back, observing him and watching for weaknesses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond knew he had many.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a thrilling sort of rush that flooded through him as he rushed the last mercenary, and when he watched the sword swing out and down at him, he went to his knees, the friction from the momentum making his skin burn. He barely felt the blade </span>
  <em>
    <span>whoosh</span>
  </em>
  <span> over his face as he bent backwards, not so much dodging it as he was dancing with it. The blow went wide, clearly having expected impact, but Desmond reacted, pulling his arms around the mercenary in a bear hug and rushing him backwards, tripping him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mercenary lost his grip on the blade and it flew in a wide arc around the weight in the handle, giving Desmond the opportunity to grab it. He did, and three ancestors’ hands corrected his grip in the time it took to point the edge of the blade at the mercenary on the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The training ring was quiet as a tomb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond felt his ears go bright red when Bartolomeo coughed. He turned, and saw Ezio watching, and he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> happy.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. tu arrossivi, ma senza un perché</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Uh. Hi.” Desmond was very shy, and remembered quickly to salute Ezio, putting his fist over his heart. He noticed he was bleeding a little from a blow to his chin, and wiped it off on the back of his hand. Ezio’s glare followed the motion, which seemed to anger him more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come,” Ezio said, not a bark or a sneer, but an order.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond followed without another word, feeling the redness at his ears flood to the back of his neck. Ezio took them out of the barracks, and down a hill, before he stopped stalking away. Desmond wasn’t even sure what he did to cause this kind of reaction, but it was nothing good, whatever it was. The uncertainty and embarrassment sat in his stomach like a rock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know what I just saw in there?” Ezio asked, his voice steady and toneless, though the anger radiated off him nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was just sparring. It was an exercise. I don’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were being reckless with your safety!” Ezio whirled on him, eyes flashing a little in barely-restrained temper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” Desmond was at a loss. “What we do is a threat to our safety every day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio obviously had never been talked back to like that. He blinked, before banking some of the fire in his expression. “You were fighting on your instincts that you were forced to have. Not something that would keep you safe and defended. You were charging straight into danger without thought or strategy. You thought you could just walk into the striking zone of three swordsmen with absolutely no tactics that would keep you safe? I saw the hits on you. Are you feeling them? Or are they a vision to you the way they would have been in the machine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like a slap. Desmond thought back to everything he’d been doing. While the Bleeding Effect had never been the goal of genetic memory access in the Animus, it had given him three lifetimes’ worth of skills. There was always a consequence of these kinds of things. When would he crash? Would letting the Bleed control his combat mean more night terrors? Ezio had noticed more about his mental state and the causes and effects of using his ancestors’ skills than Lucy, Rebecca, or even his own father had seen. Desmond turned away and looked over the embankment that led down to a small lake, surrounding a fortress tower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. “I don’t have any clue what I’m doing. No one got as far as me in the Animus, no memories and Bleeding as clear. No one gave me any instructions on how to do this right. I was supposed to welcome this, welcome the skills and the hallucinations, it made me match better with the memories.” He unfolded his arms and put his hands on the low fence, leaning over it. “Don’t be angry with me for not knowing what to do when I’m going through this alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio was quiet, but after a moment of consideration, he stepped closer. One hand, hidden beneath his cape, came to rest on Desmond’s hip, a silent offer of comfort, as he turned the words over in his head. “The world is not in black and white as I wish it were sometimes. I am sorry for reacting in anger, please believe it was out of wanting what’s best for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t even know what’s best for me,” Desmond laughed wryly, leaning into Ezio’s hand. “I don’t know how to control...this. It happens. The instincts take over and I’m...I don’t know how to say no, not when they’re saving my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your life is not unsaved without them,” Ezio pointed out, drawing closer. “We will find something that keeps you here and now, with me. In no one else’s mind but your own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Desmond said. He sighed, strings cut, and leaned into the other man. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio brought a hand up and held him close, kissing the top of his head, though it was sweaty and covered in dirt and grime from the day’s training. “You were magnificent in there, though. Even Bartolomeo thought so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well. The horse was awful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rosalina is nearly half your age.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He told you about that too?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio just chuckled, and suggested they take the rest of the day off.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Training at the barracks became easier. They developed a way for Desmond to learn to fight, without using his ancestors’ memories as a crutch. Bartolomeo partnered with Pantasilea in order to formulate a method of throwing Desmond off of any groove that his ancestors could slide into, and it was working. The nights were still sleepless, and he was dead to the world until Ezio woke him in the mornings for breakfast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he arrived at the barracks the next Tuesday morning, he was put through his paces on Rosalina again, who had gradually begun to tolerate him as he brushed her down and took care of her. He mucked out the stalls. Pantasilea joined his company as he cleaned out the water troughs. “Good morning,” he said in greeting, his hood almost falling into his eyes. He smiled at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, Desmond,” she said pleasantly. “I was wondering if you had a moment to walk together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” he said, straightening. “I’m ahead of schedule, really. They’ve been taking it easy on us today, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ezio’s given the same orders to all the guilds. Half-effort today, day off tomorrow. He’s been in good spirits. Come, walk with me.” They left the barracks and started on the worn footpath surrounding the barracks. “How have you been faring, overall?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Overall?” Desmond asked, raising his eyebrows. She probably meant in the future-adjusting-to-the-past way. “I think as best I can, honestly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, tell me the dishonest version,” she said conspiratorially.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d never been asked such a thing. “Well. The dishonest version would start with how little rest I’ve been getting, and how no one seeks to understand me. Were I being dishonest, I’d say I’d give all of this up for one hot shower.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are heated public baths here, you know. No need to give it all up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ezio doesn’t let me out of his sight most evenings. Were I dishonest about that as well, I’d say I hated it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are a man of words, seldom asked for them,” she observed after a few seconds of walking in silence. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I was a kid, I think it was because most of what I would say would come across whiny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Most children do. It’s not their fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some don’t. Some have wisdom beyond their years. You strike me as that kind of child.” He took a step forward, and walked backwards so he could face her as he spoke. “You’re a woman of words, though you seldom elect to voice them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Touché.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond was struck for a moment, imagining her, imagining all of them, as people in his time. Pantasilea would be unstoppable and fearsome. Were the gender roles of this time not impressed so indelibly, she would have been La Mentore. Claudia would have, as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad I know you,” Desmond said, simple yet encompassing all he knew to be true at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I wish you hadn’t said that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond frowned and she came at him with a knife. It was a brief and hot skirmish, and she almost threw a rock at his head, had he not caught it in mid-air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I yield!” she called when Desmond turned to run. It stunned him into freezing, looking at her with a bewildered expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was breathing hard. “You’re left-handed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” he said again, still confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I apologize for the ruse, I had to surprise you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not left-handed, I’ve always been right-handed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave him a look that dared him to doubt her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was...I was raised to fight before I could write. Right-handed. Wait, how could you tell?” Desmond was still in a crouched stance, ready to run. A quick check of his Eagle Vision showed her still as an ally, and oddly a stronger ally, at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go get a drink.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked back to the barracks together, Desmond still a bit jumpy. Pantasilea took him up to the dwelling on the top floor of the main building, and poured them some wine. Desmond downed almost half of his immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Messer Da Vinci is left-handed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Is that why you asked for dishonesty?” Desmond frowned, his English mind catching up with the Italian wordplay. Another definition of the word she’d asked for, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mancino,</span>
  </em>
  <span> was left-handed. She smiled coyly into her wine. “Remind me to never underestimate you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>madonna.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll make sure to do that, if today wasn’t example enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you know I’m not right-handed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For one, your handwriting is atrocious.” She rolled her eyes a little and sat primly on a couch. “That’s usually the first sign. Also, when you would fight, you get this faraway look in your eyes, using right-handed methods. Not as clear as when you and I fought just now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond hadn’t noticed that. He certainly knew he checked out of fights at some point, letting the moves flow through him like some Tai Chi video bullshit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could have asked me,” Desmond pointed out. “I’m fairly agreeable to beautiful and threatening women.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now that...is an interesting thing to learn.” She gave him a sly smirk. Desmond always felt, when he’d met her (as Ezio) through the Animus, that she never got the chance for flirty wordplay the way the other women in Ezio’s life got to. Desmond, however, knew his flirting was atrocious, and with both of them happily spoken for, was happy to at least tease around it with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what now? Start from the beginning?” he asked, looking out the window as a flock of pigeons came in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” she shrugged, easy as that. “If your problem is differentiating the ancestral memories and your reality, then it’s a good start.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond sighed. He had a lot of work to do, didn’t he?</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>He returned to the hideout to find most of the recruits out for the night, taking in their early day off as much as they could. He went up to go do the same, thinking he might walk around the city a little bit so he could better enjoy his day off. He had a bit of a purse to spend from the time he spent practicing pickpocketing from the thieves and courtesans, and then there was that weird pack of Followers of Romulus in the tunnels that one day, and Ezio really needed to get on rooting out the rest of that shit, and—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was accosted for the second time that day, though he would have known the hands that grabbed him blind, deaf, and in the dark. Ezio pinned him against the wall, pressing kisses up his neck and all over his face, peeling him out of his stinky robes as he went. Desmond giggled. He was man enough to admit it. He giggled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio made a frustrated noise at the buckles holding his equipment to the rest of him. Desmond pushed him off with a laugh. “What’s the rush?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want you,” Ezio pouted. Actually pouted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m smelly. Can you want me after a bath?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio agreed to that, at least. They set up the bath, and Ezio took his usual place on the stool behind Desmond. “I hear your day went well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pantasilea came at me with a knife to determine if I was left-handed,” Desmond said casually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Incidentally, yes. Ever notice how she’s rarely wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio washed his hair, his fingers gliding along his skin with the help of the soap. Desmond made a happy noise as those fingers slipped behind his head to massage out the knots in his neck. Desmond’s stress carried itself in his neck and shoulders for the most part, which was almost a blessing, because Ezio was very thorough with massaging the tight muscles. Ezio was thorough even now, not an inch of his body untouched by those magic fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna melt into the bath…” Desmond murmured when Ezio’s hands started massaging over his pecs, now a little tanned from shirtless sparring under the sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll save you, just relax…” Ezio purred. “I plan on doing a great many things to you tonight, and you’ll need your energy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Desmond peeked open an eye, and Ezio brushed his fingers over a nipple. Desmond gasped a little, and bit his lower lip. Ezio did it again, with both hands. His brown eyes were dark and full of fire, and Desmond felt his mouth go dry. His cock stirred between his legs. Did Ezio mean… “Tonight?” he said, almost shyly, but expectant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tonight, if you’d like. And all day tomorrow, and all tomorrow night.” Ezio pressed a kiss behind Desmond’s ear. “What is it you wish to have, my love?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I shall give myself to you in ways you won’t forget.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Promises, promises…” Desmond laughed. Ezio’s hand slipped further down his chest, and below the waterline. Fingers danced over the hair that grew over his lower abdomen, save for a scar from that one time with the guy and the thing Desmond couldn’t remember now if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>tried.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He leaned into Ezio’s shoulder, breath a bit stuttery and hitched. Oh, how he wanted, how he craved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would not go hungry tonight.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>pantasilea baglioni chaos empress, we stan</p><p>also like. listen i know i've been teasing all of this so badly but i promise next chapter is just all smut. it's all smut. i promise. dicks are gonna be going places no dick has gone before. (spoiler: desmond's ass)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. una canzone che non finirà</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey y’all sorry for the unplanned break. Turns out muscle spasms don’t mix with writing fic. Thanks for your patience!!!</p><p>Cw for this chapter: smut. It’s all smut. And historically accurate lube which I handwave. It’s not like we have the KY Jelly Of Eden up in here.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ezio climbed into the bath, a common occurrence when things got intense between the two of them. This time was different, his body moving lithe and tempting. He was naked now, and when had Desmond missed </span>
  <em>
    <span>that?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He had hardly any time to think about it before Ezio was taking Desmond’s dick in hand, stroking slow and teasing. Desmond thought back to when Ezio had unwrapped the bandages from his head on that very first day, when it had felt like he was staring down a viper, ready to strike at any second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ezio…” Desmond moaned, squirming a little and chewing on his lip. Ezio rocked his own cock against Desmond’s leg, a hot iron brand against his skin. His heart was pounding in his ears, loud like the rush of a stormy sea. He could think of nothing else but the body heat over his own, and he didn’t care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Above him, Ezio watched all this with rapt attention, knowing they’d have better light in the bedroom, but the shadows falling over Desmond’s face were moving, liquid, the darkness concealing little that Ezio had not already known. Desmond’s cock twitched against his palm, his pleasure growing. A feral grin came across Ezio’s mouth, and he moved his other hand, still soap-slick, beneath Desmond’s balls, past them between his cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond gave a choked-off noise of surprise. Even when he’d taken himself in hand, just satisfying needs or boredom, he’d never thought to touch himself anywhere other than where he thought necessary. Ezio was touching him in ways he’d never considered. He was going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside</span>
  </em>
  <span> him in as-yet-not-considered ways, soon. He’d been too shy to permit Ezio to wash him beneath the water’s surface, but this time, he welcomed it. He spread his legs a little more, his feet coming out of the water to angle himself upward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So eager for me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>caro,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ezio purred, pleased. “I should’ve known you’d be a little vixen all along.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond could only whimper and gyrate his hips in answer. Ezio thoroughly got Desmond used to the feeling, teasing harder and harder touches to his hole before the very tip of Ezio’s finger pressed inside. It was strange, but so incredible it made Desmond’s toes curl. “Don’t fight me,” Ezio coached him, still stroking his dick, a distraction from his finger, now gently pulsing in and out of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M’tryin,” Desmond managed, a little past rational thought or full sentences.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio leaned over him, and though their bodies were contorted in a strange shape, it felt better. Ezio kissed him, hot with passion and want. His tongue slid inside Desmond’s mouth with an urgent intensity behind it that made him shudder. He was falling apart at the seams, shaken to the very core by pleasure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as Ezio was able to fit his entire index finger, and Desmond was panting for “More, more, please,” he withdrew slowly. Desmond whined and pouted, his nerves and senses alight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t do much more in here. The water’s getting cold.” Ezio smirked, memorizing the wanton frustration that crossed Desmond’s face at his excuses. “Come, up.” Desmond blew a frustrated bubbly sigh into the water before standing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hardly dried off, too excited to get to the bedroom. Desmond’s hair was still dripping as he sprawled over the bed. Ezio had been planning this; there were several candles lit, as well as a fire in the hearth. He wasn’t going to miss seeing a single thing tonight. He hoped he looked at least a little tempting, because as it was, the pose was a little ridiculous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio stalked over and knelt atop him, bracketing his hips with his knees. He moved like a panther, an observation Desmond had made several times. Only this time, he was quite clearly the prey. Happily so, at that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look like sin itself. My own Piece of Eden, temptation incarnate, and mine to devour.” Ezio pressed their naked bodies together, rolling his hips so their cocks pressed against one another in a beautiful friction Desmond couldn’t get enough of. Desmond was already seeing stars, voicing his pleasure with gusto. His short nails bit lines into Ezio’s shoulders, a sting that Ezio would cherish. Ezio paid him back in kind, following through with his comment by biting down onto the meaty part of Desmond’s shoulder, where it met his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond cried out and bucked his hips upward. He panted Ezio’s name needily, eyes almost black with pleasure, nowhere near the warm golden brown they usually were. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to toy with dangerous objects?” Desmond teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you know I’m a man who flirts with danger often enough to make sport of it?” Ezio shot back, smirking. He licked his lips and went in for another taste of Desmond, nibbling on the man’s lower lip and sucking marks wherever he could. He knew, when they surfaced for air very far in the future, the marks would be practically invisible under the hood, but when he put his hood down, everyone would know exactly who Desmond belonged to. Ezio was never a possessive man, but he knew his mark, his teeth and the stain of bloodrush across his skin, was a masterpiece on its own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking hell, Ezio. I’m not gonna last long with you being like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have all night,” Ezio said between kisses. “And all day tomorrow. And then there’s tomorrow night, and the early hours before training, and all those moments when you come home...There’s no way your pleasure can lessen your image in my eyes and heart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond surged upward with a sloppy kiss, still uncoordinated, but needy all the same. His shame flew out the window at Ezio’s assurances, and he gave himself over to his pleasure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio pulled back from the kiss with a wicked smile on his face. “If you don’t mind, I’ve been wanting to do this for a very long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moved down on the bed, and with both hands, slowly parted Desmond’s thighs, allowing him entrance between them. He pressed kisses, teasing and soft as sunlight, up one thigh, ghosted his breath over Desmond’s leaking cock, before kissing back up the other thigh, sending the man below him into a frenzy, his composure paperthin and </span>
  <em>
    <span>tearing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ezio’s tongue, hot and wet and </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect,</span>
  </em>
  <span> licked a stripe firmly up the underside of Desmond’s dick. Desmond cried out at the sensation, his stomach doing flips. He felt weightless and drowning all at once, air was hard to come by. A hand joined Ezio’s mouth, wrapping around him and pumping him slowly, fully hard now. That hot mouth wrapped around the head, and sent sinful vibrations through every bone in Desmond’s body when Ezio moaned around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond looked practically out of his mind in pleasure. Good. Ezio had thought of the two of them in practically every position and situation imaginable, and his imagination was vast. It didn’t come anywhere close to reality, and the sharp reality of the taste on his tongue and the sweat that had replaced the bathwater and the hitching breaths and the soft flicker of candlelight against the contours of Desmond’s body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chanced a look down at Ezio when he thinks he’s got it under control, but that’s what did him in. That eager, wicked tongue pressed to the bottom of Ezio’s mouth, and the stretch of that fucking scar around his dick, just a little thread of white like a fucked little tally mark. Desmond has about two seconds to warn Ezio before he’s coming, and Ezio sucks him down eagerly and happily, making those noises in the back of his throat like there’s nothing better he’d ever tasted than the taste of Desmond’s pleasure. He came with a half-bitten moan of Ezio’s name on his lips, which had sharply cut off into a long, loud whine as he shook apart beneath him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio pulled off of him just before things got too sensitive. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and grinned, looking debauched and like he was just getting started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well?” Ezio said, and Desmond could only grin, still panting for air. The man was always fishing for a compliment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Suck my fucking brains out, why don’t you?” Desmond said weakly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps later.” Ezio came up and kissed over Desmond’s collarbone, his own erection still insistent at Desmond’s hip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I try?” Desmond asked, curious. Ezio looked like he was having a great time doing it. He was still jittery and shivery, but he wanted to be an active participant in his own debauchery, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to,” Ezio said. “But of course you can. I’m sure the sight of you on your knees for me will be enough for many years of good dreams to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Desmond wasn’t at risk of passing out, Ezio arranged him on his knees while Ezio sat on the edge of the bed. Ezio had to squeeze the base of his cock hard just to keep himself in line. Desmond’s lips, swollen and dark red, were open in almost a worshipful awe, the same beatific look that saints had in paintings. He was an angel, he was a priest, he was a man mid-prayer at the only altar he’d want to submit to. He bled supplication and worship with every blink of his eyes, with every fine shake of his hands, with every soft kiss on scarred skin. He left lingering love over the deep gash in Ezio’s middle, the mark he’d gotten from the Vatican that the Apple had healed over. It still shimmered golden a little, when Ezio was drunk enough to look at it without feeling sick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And again, finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Desmond’s mouth found Ezio’s prick. He was shy, at first, and reserved, but the more used to it he got, the more energy his kisses and kitten-licks got.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was hotter than the other parts of Ezio, and the weight was a little unwieldy in his hand as he tried to work out the best angle to work at, and he tried to swallow down more than he could, and he gagged a little and coughed. Ezio wasn’t upset, though. He was soft and sweet and called him such pretty </span>
  <em>
    <span>filthy</span>
  </em>
  <span> things while petting his hair. “Try again,” he urged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond took him down again, not as deep as before, and after getting a tempo to it, moaned around the length. Ezio almost shouted, his hand fisting in Desmond’s hair. Desmond found himself a fast learner, and having already known Ezio’s body in other ways, it made this new way a bit easier. He teased a hand up the centerline of Ezio’s torso, tracing flexed muscles and toying with the coarse black hair that grew there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio’s patience was at its end, though. The assassin pulled himself up to capture his lover’s kiss in a hurry, eager to move on. “Let me take care of you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>caro.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond blushed and nodded, standing on wobbly legs to come up and straddle Ezio’s lap. Ezio brought one hand between them, and grasped both their pricks in it. The friction was divine, and sent shocks of sensation through Desmond’s every nerve. They shared a long, sloppy kiss full of teeth and heat and laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio’s other hand slid from its place at the small of Desmond’s back down between his cheeks again, teasing over the furl of muscle there. Ezio chuckled when Desmond whined and hid his face in Ezio’s shoulder, but didn’t stop. “Here. Get comfortable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond was laid out on the bed while Ezio moved to the dresser, grabbing a few things and returning. Desmond couldn’t tell you what they were, drunk on passion as he was. It turned out to be lube, for which he was extremely grateful, and at the same time willfully ignorant about </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A slicked finger teased around the cleft of Desmond’s ass. He made a shocked noise, unused to this feeling. It made that dark, hungry look in Ezio’s eyes even darker. Another hand curled back around Desmond’s prick, and he whined, melting under Ezio’s touch. It was just the right amount of relaxed that Ezio needed, and the tip of his finger passed that tight ring of muscle. Desmond squeaked a little, but remembered Ezio telling him not to fight him, and stayed in that pleasured haze. “C-can I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything. What would you like?” Ezio purred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanna suck on your fingers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio groaned and pressed a kiss to the inside of Desmond’s knee. He relinquished his hold on Desmond’s dick and brought his hand up for him to suck. He worked the finger in his ass deeper, as Desmond laved and mouthed at the fingers offered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a war of sensation in Ezio’s head: the hot, slick feeling of Desmond’s mouth, and the tight, clutching feeling of his ass. His dick gave a throb at the thought of sinking into that heat now, taking what’s his. He covered his moans up with another groan and teased a second finger at his hole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so tight for me, Desmond,” Ezio murmured. “The noises you make, so sweet. You taste so good, better than any wine or fruit I’ve ever had.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond gave a loquacious, “Ghrrkghk.” He was fighting not to lose his mind again. It was almost the opposite of the Bleeding Effect: there were hardly any thoughts in his mind at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There we go,” Ezio purred happily, when Desmond took two fingers. He’d definitely need another, for his first time, but the noise Desmond made when he was being stretched was just divine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sucked on Ezio’s fingers and squirmed under his attention. He never thought he’d be able to feel something like this in all his life. He’s glad it’s Ezio. He’s more than glad it’s Ezio. Desmond gave a half-garbled string of words he hoped sounded like a plea, and Ezio pressed his fingers deeper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio had some level of experience with this kind of thing, that was for sure. He gave an expert crook of his fingers and Desmond was shouting and seeing stars. Ezio grinned, glowing with satisfaction and pride, that he could get this kind of response from his lover. Desmond took two fingers with a feverish need, and craved more. “It’s not a race, </span>
  <em>
    <span>cucciolo,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ezio said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Somehow you’re still going too slow,” Desmond ground out between his teeth. His hips were moving on their own accord, gyrating and helping fuck himself on Ezio’s hand. Ezio sword under his breath and grabbed more of the oil, before teasing in a third finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More enough?” Ezio asked, committing to memory the way Desmond’s eyes rolled back in his head. The younger man gave a hoarse moan of delight, reveling in the stretch. Ezio’s prick gave another hard throb of protest, wanting more, now, give it. “So beautiful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someday, he vowed in that moment, they would do this in daylight, at sunset, under the falling stars in summertime. Ezio was an inspired romantic, to say the least. He pressed kisses to the skin he could get at, still holding Desmond open at both ends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Desmond’s surprised gasps of pleasure turned to barely-controlled snarls of need, Ezio withdrew his fingers. The heartbroken noise Desmond made was sharp and dramatic, but Ezio didn’t go far. He helped prop Desmond’s hips up on a cushion, angling him up and on display.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a moment to take in the scene. Desmond’s ass and thighs glistened with the oil, and the rest of his body was covered in a sheen of sweat, some muscles twitching under the skin. The soft candlelight glow in the room gave everything a hushed and reverent palette, one that would steal Ezio’s breath every time. Desmond’s eyes held fire within them, and Ezio was happily set alight from them. He had to kiss him. The sounds of their breath mingled with the wet sounds of their kisses, and the slick noise of Ezio readying himself as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Ezio pushed in, Desmond was struck with the knowledge that this was </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely</span>
  </em>
  <span> something that set him apart from his ancestors, or if they had done this, he hadn’t seen it. Ezio in the here and now moved with an ease of grace and power, ever-present in his kills and walk, and doubly so when he fucked. For that power to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside</span>
  </em>
  <span> him was just as heady a sensation as a Leap of Faith, just as intoxicating as any wine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond was a squirmy, responsive, and sensitive lover. He felt like he was being split in two, impaled on Ezio’s cock. He made little keening noises, and whiny, breathy moans. He was a fucking wreck already, and Ezio had never seen anything so spectacular.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Ezio bottomed out, his hips coming to rest against Desmond’s ass, he let out a shuddering groan. He was so tight it was like Desmond was squeezing every last thought from his head besides </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck. Now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond gave an experimental roll of his hips and gasped. He felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>full, </span>
  </em>
  <span>stretched but oddly safe. His blood felt heavier, slogging through and making the words jumble in his head. “Are you alright?” Ezio asked in a slightly-strained voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Ezio moved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the first drag backward, Desmond thought his brain was going to leak out his ears. When Ezio pushed back in, it was like there was no room left for air in his lungs. He pumped his hips in a slow and steady pace, keeping those sharp eyes on Desmond for any sign of discomfort or distress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio’s heart was pounding harder than it had in a long time, not from fear, but from sheer emotion overcoming him. He had never felt like this before, never been undone by a kiss, a touch, a smile. He never knew this was something he could have, and he intended to never lose it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned over Desmond, and kissed him again, rolling his hips languidly and indulgently. Desmond groaned beneath him and shuddered. Ezio gave a little sharp snap of his hips just to see how Desmond would respond. At the high-pitched gasp and the bewildered look thrown his way, Ezio picked up the pace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It turned out that Desmond liked getting fucked nice and slow. It was like Ezio was carving out a place for himself inside of Desmond, and never intended to leave. Their lovemaking grew frantic, needy and full of tension. They were hurtling for the finish, wanting this more than anything they’d ever wanted in their life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desmond clutched at Ezio’s shoulders and whined. “Don’t stop,” he begged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t, I won’t,” Ezio said, half-mad with feeling. It was like the sudden urgency had triggered a reaction neither could help. Ezio kissed Desmond, nipping at his lip and sucking. His hand came to wrap around Desmond’s cock, and it took barely any time for Desmond to come with a shout. The reactive clench around Ezio’s dick forced his own release, and he came crying Desmond’s name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As their hearts slowed, they relaxed, neither one wanting to move. Ezio rested his forehead against Desmond’s, and gave a little breathless laugh. He sighed happily when Desmond’s mind caught up with his. Desmond grinned at him and made a soft noise when Ezio pulled out, his come already beginning to leak out and onto the sheets. Desmond made a face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s weird,” he muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezio couldn’t help but laugh. Everything was as it should be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You may have to get used to it, because I have about a dozen other things I plan to do to you before the sun comes up.”</span>
</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. vide le luce in mezzo al mare</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Whoo! I know it's been awhile, yall, but I think I gotta wrap this one up for my sanity. There should be 1-2 more chapters after this one. Thanks for sticking around and reading, babes!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A month passed with little to no disasters which needed Ezio’s attention, meaning he could spend his attention as he wished, which was to say, it was spent all on Desmond. They hardly left the little corner of heaven they’d carved out in their bed, and between sleeping and fucking and recovering from fucking, Desmond wasn’t sure he could have mentally handled anything in the way of mission planning or training.</p><p>He supposed it paid to be the favorite, sometimes. He let himself indulge where he wanted, which was to say, wherever Ezio happened to be at that moment.</p><p>That’s not to say it all went smoothly. Desmond was still coming to grips with having lost all the amenities and familiarity of his old life, and sorting out what he thought he knew of Rome and how Rome actually was. There were times he could have killed someone just for a fucking lighter, for a cigarette or shit, maybe some weed.</p><p>He also had to deal with the frustration he’d bottled up around his father, emotions burbling to the surface whenever Ezio got him to drink more than a half-cup of wine. He sat there and spewed his emotions for hours, it seemed, detailing his pitiful childhood and all the things he’d lost. He spent nine years on the run from both ruling factions of the world, and had a very hard time relaxing entirely. With these Assassins all around him, it was difficult for him to let go, to let himself just <em>be</em> and not pretend to be someone else.</p><p>How strange it was, that he would mourn his old life, and at the same time bemoan it’s shortcomings.</p><p>“There are few things in the world which are entirely good or entirely evil, Desmond,” Ezio had said one night, after a few cups of wine had loosened the man’s tongue. They lay about in the salon at the Rosa in Fiore, on one of the rare nights the place was shuttered to the public. Brothel or not, the place had atmosphere, and Desmond could at least appreciate that, as a cosmopolitan at heart.</p><p>“How do you mean?” Desmond asked, leaning into the warm embrace of the older man.</p><p>“Take my meeting you. I had spent the whole boat ride over from Siena wondering what I am supposed to do with my life, now that a thirty-year crusade had finished up with a man falling off the side of a wall.”</p><p>Desmond knew what awaited Ezio next. He knew he would grow restless of Rome, of Italy as a whole, and sail south for new adventures, chasing questions and mysteries with little to no information to go off of. He’d pursue that restless investigation of the world the same way he’d uncovered the Pazzi conspiracy, the Venetian coup, the interconnected spiderweb of the Borgia in Rome. He’d be injured in Masyaf, earn a new foe, and follow the trail to Constantinople, meet Sofia Sartor, and--</p><p>“You keep telling me to relax. Have you ever thought of simply retiring?”</p><p>“Are you calling me old, <em>cucciolo?”</em> Ezio smirked over the rim of his cup. Desmond went red, and fumbled for an answer.</p><p>“I’m saying you’re just as stubborn as I am. Assassins don’t get to die in their beds. I didn’t.” He felt the strange, heavy beat pass between them and continued. “Have you thought of what you want for your life, instead of letting whatever fortune or bad luck throws your way guide your path?”</p><p>Shit, maybe the wine brought out the philosophical side of him.</p><p>Ezio looked troubled at the logic puzzle, staring into his wine for a few long minutes as the music in the brothel fell over their ears. “You know something,” Ezio settled on.</p><p>Desmond sucked in a breath, his hand tightening around the leg of his trousers. “I--”</p><p>Ezio was already waving him and his excuses off, apology written on his face. <em>“Mi dispiace, </em>I told you I wouldn’t ask.”</p><p>Could Desmond tell him? Could he tell him about Masyaf, about Sofia? She would be so young, right now. She would be just as beautiful, head in the clouds, full of books and dreams and adventure. Adventure she wouldn’t get, if Ezio never swooped in to give it to her.</p><p>“I might need... a bit to think about it.” Desmond looked down, unable to meet Ezio’s golden gaze. He missed the frown Ezio gave at the sudden sadness in Desmond’s features. “It’s... I don’t want to lose you.”</p><p>The pieces clicked together like the machinations in Ezio’s hidden blade. “There’s someone I would meet, then.”</p><p>“Yes,” Desmond whispered.</p><p>“When?”</p><p>“In a few years. Less than ten years, actually.” The words came easier and easier, to Desmond’s despair. “You meet in another country entirely, two Italians in a strange land, and you fall in love. She’s beautiful, and... and you really love her.” He knew, because he knew Ezio, inside and out. “You get married and have a daughter, and--”</p><p>“Desmond,” Ezio said, reaching out to cup his face. When had he started crying? “Desmond, you said it yourself, you don’t think time really works the way it once had. And I’m okay with that. I’m alright, right here, with you.” He thumbed away the tears on Desmond’s face, holding him until they stopped coming. “I love you, dearly. And nothing will change that. Not even a future I don’t even miss.”</p><hr/><p>“I want you to come with me, today,” Ezio said one morning, already sitting up in bed and patting around for his breeches.</p><p>“Where’re we going?” Desmond asked, rolling over to look at him. Ezio looked so good like this, softly-lit from the pale morning light. It made his features and muscles more striking, more supernaturally handsome than he ever looked in Desmond’s memories of glancing in the mirror.</p><p>
  <em>“Il Colosseo.”</em>
</p><p>“Ah. Today, then?”</p><p>“Today.”</p><p>They dressed and ate, before taking two horses through the city. They were a vision of black and gray, twisting down toward the Antico district. At Desmond’s insistence, they stabled their horses with a kind man just at the bottom of the senatorial palace. They returned down the long set of stairs toward the ruins, and approached the center, where a stage was erected in the shade. Desmond took a moment to just look around at the beautiful sight. “It’s breathtaking,” he said softly, not even the memory of when he was last here able to ruin the moment.</p><p>“So it still stands in your time?”</p><p>“Barely,” Desmond chuckled. “There’s this thing called conservation people get really upset over, when it comes to historical landmarks. Can only have a handful of people in one place at one time, only walk on the carpet, don’t touch anything, don’t breathe on Messer da Vinci’s paintings.”</p><p>Ezio gave a laugh. “What else?”</p><p>“People take tours of the Vatican, just anyone can do it.”</p><p>“How much do they pay?” Ezio asked.</p><p>“You’re keen,” Desmond smirked, before walking to where he instinctively remembered the entrance to the Lair of Romulus being.</p><p>They rolled down the entrance, and landed at the bottom of the wide hallway, adorned with broken scaffolding and brickwork. He was privileged enough to get to see Ezio in action, watching him analyze the area before pointing out the route up.</p><p>“You know, with the Borgia all taken out, I don’t think we’ll need to be so stealthy,” Desmond observed, as Ezio warmed up his shoulders and back in preparation for a long climb.</p><p>“Oh?” Ezio says, adjusting his bracer and looking over.</p><p>“Yeah.” Desmond picked up a fist-sized boulder and smashed the lock keeping the door to the passageway closed. It creaked open with a resigned noise, which amused Desmond to no end when Ezio just sighed and motioned for him to carry on. They walked through the pathway, which usually had Ezio leaping from beam to beam, swinging on rafters and lanterns he shouldn’t have trusted. “Had you come here a few years ago, you would have run into quite a few people on your way from here to there, but I don’t blame you for acting like you still might.” He grinned at Ezio’s scowl.</p><p>“The doggedness of youth,” Ezio muttered.</p><p>Through the abandoned party areas they walked, not bothering to stop at any of the smaller treasures they passed by. Ezio had enough. They both had enough. Through another passageway, and behind another gate, the only thing they needed to really exert themselves for were the quick leaps between beams before the carved-out hole in the wall, leading from craggy earth to sharp geometry and masterfully-carved space.</p><p>“This is it,” Desmond said softly, directing Ezio down the stairs to the side. They shared a bit of distance between them, both alert and aware for signs of any remnant Followers of Romulus. Instead of heading down further to the shrine, Desmond pointed to the other side of the large chamber. “There.”</p><p>“It’s just a wall,” Ezio said.</p><p>“It has a secret,” Desmond said. “Look closer.”</p><p>“There’s a... a shape, here,” Ezio said, frowning and reaching out to touch the geometric design inlaid in the stone.</p><p>“Yes,” Desmond whispered. He remembered the events of what happened last time he was here, losing Lucy, learning about her betrayal. “What’s forty-eight plus twenty-four?” he asked Ezio.</p><p>“Seventy-two.”</p><p>A great rumbling of noise startled Ezio, but not Desmond, the doors sliding open with an intense amount of noise. They were lucky they were so far underground, and in such an abandoned area, because it would have called in the guard and half of Rome had they been in any other circumstance. The chamber was instantly lit up, the stairs already raised high to the pedestal in the center.</p><p>“You have to put the Apple there,” Desmond said, though it didn’t very much sound like his own voice.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Ezio asked, catching onto the tension in the air.</p><p>“Fine,” Desmond rasped, before looking over at him. “Let’s just get out of here.”</p><p>It took less than a few seconds for the Apple to lock into place on the pedestal. Desmond didn’t take a single step into the chamber. He was stronger than he looked, but that’s not something he wants to subject himself to again. His arm ached if he thought about it for long enough.</p><p>With an echoing, solid strike of metal on stone, the stairs descended below after Ezio secured the Apple.</p><p>Indecision and worry choked Desmond at the entryway, but the stairs never withdrew faster than Ezio’s footsteps, nor did he seem entirely bothered by it. Instead, the master assassin looked... happy. Peaceful. Like a massive weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, and left on the pedestal with the Apple. When they were finally reunited, Desmond raised an eyebrow, but didn’t speak until the doors to the Temple were closed once more.</p><p>“Everything alright?”</p><p>Ezio gave him a winsome smile, and wrapped an arm around his waist before pressing a kiss to his cheek.</p><p>“For once, yes.”</p>
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